


the universe of you and i

by klefaeries



Series: knock us down and we'll keep on going [2]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Praise Kink, Queer Reader, Reader-Insert, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and everything is going to be FINE, autobots are kinda bad guys due to unreliable narrator, cybertronian lore dumps, everything gets resolved eventually, i cried writing some of the angsty bits, i just kept adding plot to this and it became a monster help, i put canon in a blender and thats fine, in this house we love and want arcee to crush us with her thighs, knock out has to talk about his FEELINGS, knock out is bisexual dont @ me, knock out is ooc and thats fine, knock out/breakdown is not explicit rather its knock out talking about it, mentions of suicide and self harm to a degree, ok im done tagging shit im v drunk rn, some gory bits when the major plot thing happens, unnecessary slapstick comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klefaeries/pseuds/klefaeries
Summary: Your relationship with Knock Out has changed for the better or worse. His sudden departure from the Decepticons due to their role in Breakdown's death and subsequent attempt to join the Autobots in an effort to become better throws both of your lives into a chaotic string of events. And, all the while, you begin to come to terms that you have fallen in love with him. Sometimes, it just be like that. Sequel to "oh, how sweet the stars"
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out, Knock Out/Reader, Knock Out/You
Series: knock us down and we'll keep on going [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809709
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	the universe of you and i

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god. oh my god???? look. look at what i did. i haven't written so much in so little time since i don't fucking know when. the power of being horny for knock out and then adding feelings and plot to the mix is a strong one indeed.
> 
> so yeah. this is long. and a lot happens. you might want to read "oh, how sweet the stars" to understand. tbh, tho, i don't even care if anyone reads this. im just immensely proud of the fact that i FINISHED it. oh and if things seem disjointed at parts it's because im incredibly drunk while uploading it and did a bunch of editing like a madwoman.
> 
> i don't really know what else to say. i should have split it up into chapters, but meh. 
> 
> knock yourselves out, fam.

You awake stiff with aches and a soreness in places you didn’t even know you had. But it’s totally worth it.

You are still sprawled over Knock Out’s chassis. It takes a few moments to remember why you’re naked on top of a compact-sized Knock Out in your garage, but once the previous night’s escapes flood back into your memories like Niagara Falls, you find yourself choking for air. You can’t believe it. You can’t believe any of it.

_ I had sex with Knock Out.  _

It’s not just the sex part that has you bewildered. It’s the soft moments the two of you shared during the mind-blowing sex. It’s his sincerity at calling you beautiful. It’s when he willingly allowed you to help him with something that was clearly very precious to him. And, of course, the tiny little thought that dances across your mind as it had last night:

_ Am I in love with him? _

You don’t know. You thought you were in love with Leah before she broke your heart. You don’t know much about love at this point, especially since you essentially swore it off six months ago. Inside of Knock Out. While he was a car. Before kidnapping you.

You groan quietly from the combination of too many complex thoughts just after waking up and the fact that your legs feel like you’ve ran across the entire continental United States in the span of one hour. He did an absolute number on you. You really have no idea if you’ll be able to walk.

“You’re awake.”

Knock Out’s voice rumbles through his body and reverberates through yours. You turn your head and look up at him; there’s a strange, pained expression on his face plate. 

“Um. Hi.” Just two syllables is all you can manage, and they come out tiny and shy.

“You should…” Knock Out looks away from you, focusing on a part of the garage wall where the plaster is starting to crumble off into little pieces. “You should clean yourself up. And get some fuel. And put clothing on. And all those other fleshie human things.”

“Oh. Yeah. I probably should.” He’s being weird. Withdrawn. Similar to when you had found him last night in the garage, holding the buffer like it was his only lifeline with empty eyes. Only not as drastic. “You alright?” you ask nervously, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and stretching your legs out, doing your best not to wince from the aches.

He continues to stare at the wall like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. “I suppose.”

He says nothing more, and you figure it’s best to get up and ignore the ache that’s beginning to grow in your heart now. It’s obvious you can’t go back to the way things were between you now. You’re absolutely terrified that you’ve fucked up, even though the decision to do what you did last night was glaringly mutual.

It takes a few tries to get off of Knock Out. He makes a move as to pick you up in his servos but you hold a hand up, shaking your head. “I’m okay. Just a little wobbly is all.” 

You limp back into the house with a prickle of anxiety and fear festering in all your nerves. Your mouth is dry, even when you chug an entire bottle of water from the fridge. Your hands are clammy, even when you take a shower as hot as your fragile human skin can handle. There are pinpricks in your hips where Knock Out held you; there’s a yellowing bruise where he bit you on the neck in the throes of passion. They don’t hurt. And you feel a little flush of weird relief at the proof that last night happened, and it wasn’t all just some dream.

It’s a little after eight by the time you’ve cleaned up and put some clothes on. Your attire is simple and nondescript; shorts, loose t-shirt, and a bandana tied around your throat to obscure his love bite. You  _ can  _ walk, and the shower has helped the soreness in your whole body, but you still send a text to your uncle saying that you woke up with a fever and won’t be in today. After popping one too many painkillers than recommended, just to be safe.

When you make your way to the garage door you find that you can’t open it. Your hands are shaking. There’s a voice echoing in your mind, whispering in a tone as caustic as acid, saying that Knock Out is already gone. It would make sense, considering what he said about coming here in the first place being a mistake. And he only promised to be here when you woke up—nothing was mentioned about what happens afterward.

You take a deep shuddering breath and open the door anyway.

He’s still here.

And he’s back to his full size, sitting in a hunched position so he’s not squished up against the ceiling. The scratches and wounds are already looking better and not as deep as they were last night. You want to rush over and hug his leg, but think better of it and instead just give him an awkward little smile and wave. 

“If I had known you’d still be able to walk, I would have gone harder last night,” Knock Out comments with a decent amount of his usual arrogant asinine attitude, and you manage not to throw an purple-stained rag at him.

“I prefer my limbs being somewhat functional, actually,” you pipe back with a roll of your eyes. Before you can think about what you’re saying, the next words out of your mouth are, “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

Knock Out’s optics harden. “Which part?” he replies icily, and you resist the impulse to flinch.

“...all of it,” you mumble quietly, digging your nails into your palms so deep it stings.

He doesn’t answer for some time. You think you’re about to start hyperventilating and regret everything you have ever done in your life when Knock Out suddenly stretches out a servo and places it gently on top of your head. It’s a comforting weight.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says in a thick tone full of something akin to regret. “I’m…not good with this sort of thing. I don’t think I can. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

It’s not the answer you wanted, but it’s not as bad as you were worried it could be. You open your mouth to ask (stupidly, because you are an idiot) just what he considers you to be to him, but Knock Out cuts you off before you can say anything.

“All I can say is this.” He gives you a pat on the head, the tips of his claws lingering in your hair for just a second before pulling away. “You  _ are  _ something important to me. But I’d rather not talk about—everything else.” 

Breakdown’s death is implied the way he falters. You don’t want to push him, even though there’s a hole growing inside your chest because you’re just so damn confused about your feelings and you want some firm direction on where the two of you stand. So you ask something else instead. Something that has been weighing on your mind the moment Knock Out grabbed you and kissed you.

“How did you know how to do all... _ that _ ,” you choke on the last word and just gesture vaguely to air between you two.

Knock Out grins.

It’s that familiar shit-eating grin that makes you want to smack him (and now, maybe, kiss him until you can’t breathe).

“Do you have  _ any _ idea how much pornographic media can be found while scouring the depths of your kind’s Internet?

You hold your head in your hands and groan very loudly. “Why am I not surprised?”  _ And trust me, I’m well aware _ , you add silently, because you probably wouldn’t be able to handle his merciless teasing of you about it.

Knock Out shrugs, a kind of “whatever shall we do with me?” gesture. His grin dissolves into a thin line. He looks down at the matter displacer he has placed on the floor next to him, and ex-vents. “I meant what I said about the Autobots. I have...intel they can use. Skills better suited for their needs than Megatron. And I—” He looks back to you now, his optics blazing with a determination you’ve only seen when he once told you about how badly he wanted to shove a missile up Starscream’s aft for constantly undermining his medical expertise. “I don’t want your Pit-be-damned, slag-ridden dirtball of a planet to fall at the hands of the Decepticons.”

"I’m coming with you,” you hear yourself blurt out, because yet again you have forgone thinking before speaking. 

“ _ What _ ? Absolutely not.” Knock Out shakes his helm frantically. “I won’t get you into an even bigger mess than I already have.”

“But they’re the ‘good guys,’ right?” You cross your arms and glare at him with all the obstinacy you can muster in your tiny human eyeballs. “I know I don’t know everything about your situation, but I can read between the lines. Your Lord Megatron is not a nice dude—hell, the term ‘Decepticon’ sounds  _ incredibly _ shady. But whenever you’ve talked about the Autobots, as sparse as that may be, they’re always trying to stop whatever you’re trying to do. Besides,” you point at him now, stubborn glare intensifying (or so you hope), “you said it yourself.  _ You _ got me into this mess. But Knock Out, I’m ride or die for it. You won’t be getting rid of me anytime soon.”

“Ugh.” Knock Out grunts in exasperation. “I don’t like it when you use logic against me.”

“You know I’m right. I’m not letting you do this alone. I’m coming with you.” The bravado starts to disappear as you realize just how desperate you are to help him, and you add in a hushed voice, “ _ Please _ .”

“Alright,” Knock Out relents, and rather quickly. You were expecting more of an argument. You had a list of pros and cons planned out in your head. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t have the chance to use them. “But you do realize that you’ll never go back to a normal life after this.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “What part of my life has been normal for the last six months? I’ve been in contact with a giant robot alien who sends me memes and then asks me to explain them to him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but how in Primus’s name am I supposed to understand ‘yeet’ when it’s not even a real word?”

“I feel like my whole purpose in life has been to witness this moment and hear you say yeet,” you admit with another laugh, covering your mouth with a hand and snickering at his scowl. You get a few more seconds of giggling out of the way before straightening your shoulders, push down the swirling mess of insecurities threatening to crawl out of your heart, and ask, “So how do you plan to contact the Autobots?”

Knock Out smiles deviously. “I already have. All that’s left is to join them at a rendezvous point.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road! ...literally!”

His agonized groan is sweet music to your ears.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two hours later, you’re in the middle of the Nevada desert.

There’s nothing around but some lonely cacti and a really big boulder that looks out of place amongst the sand. 

You’re frustrated. And a nervous wreck. Not only because Knock Out apparently had a way to contact the Autobots the whole time, but also because you are wholly unprepared for your first meeting with more Cybertronians. Even if they are supposed to be the good guys.

He doesn’t tell you how he contacted the Autobots. You don’t ask. The entire drive out to the rendezvous point was tense; on top of his withdrawal in the garage and refusal to talk about feelings, you figured that prying would get you nowhere.

You trust Knock Out will tell you everything with time. You’ll just have to be patient until then.

He’s pacing to and fro, walking in circles, and muttering to himself so quietly you can barely hear him. It doesn’t help that he’s instructed you to hide behind the very large boulder in case things go sour, which has only added to your anxiety, because if a giant alien robot fight club breaks out while you’re around...you don’t want to dwell on that. You were the one who begged Knock Out to bring you along, anyway. 

Suddenly, in the distance, you hear the sound of engines approaching. You poke your head out from behind the boulder and can see a cloud of dust on the horizon getting larger and closer by the second.

Knock Out notices it too. He brings his servos to his faceplate and lets out a strangled groan, shaking his helm. “Shit. What am I doing?”

You frown. For him to use a curse word from Earth...

_ I really hope this goes well. If there’s anyone up there listening to me, please...let this not turn into a total shit show. _

There’s no magical or divine voice that responds to your halfhearted prayer, nor are you bathed in a halo of golden light. You suppose you and Knock Out are on your own.

Two vehicles are approaching your spot. A very large semi-truck and an ambulance. The closer they get, the stiffer Knock Out’s posture becomes. Two hundred feet—one hundred feet—fifty—and then the vehicles are right in front of Knock Out, so you quickly duck back behind the boulder, and you can hear the sound of a Cybertronian transforming. 

“Knock Out.” 

A very deep, baritone, and commanding voice reverberates through the area. You resist the urge to immediately poke your head back out because it’s a voice like rolling thunder and you’re beginning to realize that you may have a voice kink and your curiosity is  _ insatiable  _ in regards to whether or not you would find other Cybertronians attractive the way you do Knock Out. You’re hinging your bet on yes. You really hope there are some that identify as female, because your dumb gay ass needs some new daydream material.

“Prime,” Knock Out greets in a smug and smarmy tone, but you’ve known him long enough that you can hear the slight tremble that betrays his unease.

“You’re actually alone. Like you said you would be. There’s not a Decepticon signal in sight.” Another voice speaks out, this one derisive and gruff. He sounds impressed, though. He also sounds like he’s upset about being impressed. 

Knock Out laughs, and it’s more mocking than anything else. “I’m a mech of my word! You really had reason to doubt me?”

“Hah!” The grumpy voice snorts. “We have plenty of reasons to doubt you. Want me to list them all out for you?”

“Ratchet, we’ve come to parley peacefully,” the deep voice points out calmly. You want this guy to read you bedtime stories. “Knock Out seemed sincere in his message. We must at least hear what he has to say.”

“Was it very sincere of him to hack into our comm systems and say he has a proposition for us, send coordinates, and then scramble his signal before any of us could even respond?”

“I only did that,” Knock Out cuts in heatedly, “because I had no other choice. I’m completely out of options right now.”

“And why is that?” Mr. Grumpy (or Ratchet, you presume) sneers. “Megatron finally kick you out of the pressure vent?”

“No. I left on my own. And I want to join the Autobots. The ‘winning team,’ as I see it.”

Silence.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Ratchet deadpans. “As if Optimus and I would believe—”

“Why?” Prime asks. That’s all he responds with. Just one simple question.

Knock Out ex-vents. You can hear the conflict in his voice, the turmoil in every syllable, the slight shudder accompanying every word. “Because I have decided that the goals of the Decepticons no longer align with my own. Because I’m tired of being overworked, under appreciated. And because—” He hesitates, and you know the expression he’s making right now. It’s the same forlorn expression you saw last night. “Because somebot close to me was killed, and I discovered that Megatron was the one who let it happen.”

You frown. You thought that some mercenary group of humans horny for alien technology had killed his friend Breakdown. Unless...the leader of the Decepticons pulled the strings. If that was the case, well. Megatron has now officially been put in the “fuck you” box, and you would really like to kick his ass. Even though he could probably kill you with a look.

There’s a moment of contemplative silence. Then, the one called Prime says, “I am sorry for the loss of your friend. But I am unsure if we can trust you well enough to become an Autobot. We would be happy to have you as an ally, but if you are looking for sanctuary with us, I am afraid I cannot grant it.”

“What about your fragging code of honor?” Knock Out demands hotly. “Aren’t the Autobots the paragons of virtue and justice? Aren’t you, Optimus Prime, the very embodiment of those ideals? Denying me is denying  _ everything you stand for _ !”

He roars the last part. His vehement words echo emptily across the desert and get sucked up into the sands.

“You have no right to talk to Optimus like that!” Ratchet snaps, and you hear the sound of metal shifting, and you know that this is not going as planned.

“And Megatron had no right to lead Breakdown into an ambush by fucking MECH because he was so desperate to destroy you that he was willing to give up  _ one of his own _ for a relic of Iacon!” Knock Out shouts, and he’s become nothing but rage and spite. “But no—you don’t actually care, because Breakdown was just a Decepticon, and we’re all the same to you Autobots. Disposable pawns of Megatron.”

Ratchet and Prime (Optimus Prime? Just Optimus? Just Prime? You don’t know) let out shouts of alarm and you can hear grinding metal like a saw. You’ve decided that enough is enough. And you’re not letting Knock Out deal with this alone.

“Everyone just calm the fuck down!” you yell at the top of your lungs as you rush out from behind your hiding place and right into the potential giant alien robot fight club.

Three Cybertronians look down at you. The first thing you notice is that Knock Out’s entire left servo is now a ragged circular saw bigger than a tire, and it’s spinning dangerously fast. “Wow, didn’t know it did that,” you mumble under your breath as you think about how less than twenty-four hours ago that servo was feeling you up.

And then you finally get a good look at the two Autobots. There’s one about the same height as Knock Out, with a red and white color scheme. He clearly is the one who transforms into an ambulance. He’s gaping at you with a wide open mouth and aghast lightning-blue optics, frozen in place. It’s the other one that takes your breath away. He’s massive—almost thirty feet tall, with a body that could kill a god, and his finish is covered in dark blue and rich red. His optics are the same shocking blue as the other Autobot’s, and the lower half of his faceplate is covered by some kind of armor. 

“Oh. Oh boy. Him big.” You stare up at who you guess by process of elimination and context clues is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. “Him  _ very _ big.”

Not the most eloquent first impression, but you were a little star struck. And right in guessing you could find other Cybertronians attractive.

“Knock Out, why is there a human woman staring at Optimus?” Ratchet asks slowly. Neither he nor Optimus Prime make any sort of movement, their optics trained in you.

Knock Out slaps his faceplate with the servo that isn’t a giant rotating saw of death. “You were supposed to hide!” he accuses you in a growl. 

“Yeah, well, I saw that this wasn’t going so hot, and I had to step in!” you snap back, making sure that you’re standing directly between him and the Autobots. “You should have just let me be a part of this in the first place, dammit!”

“Did you take a human as a hostage?” Optimus demands, his richly toned voice somewhat muffled by the mask, but still impressive.

“No, he did not,” you answer hotly. “I mean, he  _ did _ kidnap me once, but it’s okay now, and it was for a good reason. I’m Knock Out’s—”

You’re his what? Friend? Companion? Lover? Accidental fuck buddy?

You don’t know. A couple hours ago you thought you were content not to know. Now you’re thinking too hard about it again.

“—tutor,” you finish lamely.

“His...tutor,” Ratchet repeats, dumbfounded.

“About humans. And all the human-y stuff we do. Like how we have bitchy ex-girlfriends who we make fake accounts to stalk even though it’s unhealthy. Sometimes I decipher memes for him. One time I made him a playlist of the greatest songs from the last fifty years and he spent an entire week obsessed with ABBA.” 

You’re babbling, but the sheer bewilderment of your presence and declaration has completely diffused the situation. You hope.

“This is rather...unprecedented,” Optimus admits, though his battle-ready posture doesn’t change. “Unexpected as well.” He’s staring at Knock Out with an expression that’s hard to read, mostly because the lower half of his faceplate is covered.

Ratchet narrows his optics at Knock Out. “You didn’t brainwash the human, did you?”

“Even with skills as impressive as mine, that particular ability is beyond me.” There’s a clicking sound, and the rotating saw disappears into Knock Out’s arm, and his normal clawed servo takes its rightful place. “She’s...agreed to help me, not because I’ve forced her to, but because she’s too soft for her own good.”

“And stubborn,” you add, but before you can say anything else, your phone begins to ring. Instinctually you take it out of your pocket and hit ANSWER before actually looking at the caller because your mind is a little jumbled up from the situation you’ve found yourself in.

You don’t even get a chance to say hello. On the other end of the line, a malevolent voice that fills you with cold dread booms like thunder.

“So good of you to answer, little fleshling,” it sneers, and the skin on the back of your neck prickles. “You’ve just made finding my traitorous little medic so much easier.” The call ends with an abrupt click, and you stare down at your screen with the bitter knowledge that you have fucked up.

“Oh, shit.”

A loud series of beeps and alarms start to sound from Ratchet, and a panel opens up on his arm. His head jerks down and his optics widen as he takes a step back from you and Knock Out, shaking his helm in disbelief. “A ground bridge is about to open, Optimus,” he says in a distressed tone. “And it doesn’t have our signal.”

“Megatron.” Optimus looks down at you, then to Knock Out, and back to you again. “The Decepticons must have been tracking your cellular device. We must leave immediately.”

“Soundwave got into my comms quicker than I expected he would. Slag,” Knock Out curses grimly. Without warning he plucks your phone from your hands and crushes it like a grape between his servos. You watch as six months of memories, photos, and conversations with him fall to the sand in a fragmented mess beyond repair, and are unable to keep yourself from taking a sharp breath. He notices the stricken look on your face and gives you an apologetic half-smile that doesn’t reach his optics. “In retrospect, I should have done that last night. Just another miscalculation to add to the list.”

And then it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the area for one brief moment. You spin around at the same time the three Cybertronians do, and only fifteen feet away a massive swirling blue tunnel of energy appears like something out of a science fiction movie. Then again, you are basically living in one now. You’ve just only dealt with Knock Out and nothing else. 

From it, a figure from your nightmares emerges.

You know it’s Megatron. It’s obvious. He is a fucking colossus compared to Optimus Prime, Ratchet, and Knock Out. The only color on his grayscale frame is the violet emblem of the Decepticons in the middle of his chassis and crimson optics that blaze with a cold fury. He is sharp, like Knock Out, but where Knock Out is sleek and elegant, Megatron is a being of pure crushing power and annihilation. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared shitless.

“How delightful it is to see you, Knock Out!” Megatron’s voice is even more terrifying in person than on the phone. Exactly how an evil alien robot overlord should sound, in your opinion. He casts a cursory glance towards Optimus and Ratchet and a vicious smile spreads across his mouth, revealing teeth like fangs. “And Optimus, too. What’s the human phrase? ‘Kill two birds with one stone’?”

And then a giant cannon emerges from a panel on one of his arms. He aims it straight at you and Knock Out. 

“Ratchet, get a ground bridge up!” Optimus commands at the same time Megatron fires the cannon, and all hell breaks loose.

You’re scooped up in Knock Out’s servos and faster than you knew he could move, he lunges to the side as the area where the two of you were standing only moments ago explodes in a flash of violet energy, the sound of the cannon’s fire absolutely deafening. You let out a yelp as you’re nearly crushed against Knock Out’s chassis, hands scrambling to find purchase on his glossy finish while also doing your best to avoid touching his wounds. 

You wish you could say that you watched every moment of the fight. You wish you could say that you knew every detail, every move made by Optimus Prime as he and Megatron squared off. You wish you could remember the threats Megatron made towards Knock Out, and the frantic curses of Ratchet as he did whatever one had to do to create a “ground bridge” before they were vaporized by a giant cannon. But the truth is, you have absolutely no idea what happened.

Your senses all just...shut down.

Everything was chaos. The sound of gunfire and shouting and metal upon metal. All you could feel was terror and panic. Your lungs constricted. Your heart throbbed painfully in your ribcage. Your skin felt like an army of ants was crawling along every inch of you. 

So it was just easier to withdraw into a happy little daydream involving kittens having a tea party and ignore what was happening around you, clinging to Knock Out and squeezing your eyes shut so hard your face hurt.

When you begin to come back to yourself, it’s still chaos, but instead of the sounds of battle it’s a chorus of unfamiliar voices all talking at once.

“She’s just in shock,” you hear Knock Out say, and you realize you’re still being held by him. His words are shaky, terse, and anxious. You feel his grip on your body tighten but not so much that it hurts. “___ will be fine if you give us some space!”

It’s his use of your name that fully tethers you back to reality. You raise your head and look up at the pinched expression of Knock Out, and reach your hand up to poke him gingerly in the cheek. His faceplate is dirty and smudged, like he had stood in front of a sandstorm and let it envelope him for hours. He starts at the unexpected touch and glances down at you; the tense grimace he was wearing breaks into a relieved smile, and you get a feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see it.

“Hey,” you croak awkwardly, aware that there is a group of strangers around you. “What happened? We aren’t dead, right?”

It’s not Knock Out who answers, but the familiar baritone voice of Optimus Prime behind you.

“You are safe within our base of operations, Miss ___.” You turn to look behind you and do a double-take, because there are a lot more giant alien robots than you expected crowding around you. “Welcome to the Autobot Outpost Omega One.”

You’re in a very large, very spacious room that reminds you of central command centers in old 1960’s movies where the protagonists monitor every missile movement in the world. Then you look more closely at the sparse decor, the antiquated and bulky computer systems, the thick electric cables attached to the steel walls, and using the powers of deduction and a history degree that never got you anywhere, you realize that you’re probably right on the money. You’re definitely in some kind of Cold War era bunker. The only thing out of place is off to the side by a large tunnel—the drive-in entrance?—there is a little area with a slightly dilapidated couch, a TV set and some kind of gaming console connected to it, and a vending machine filled with all manner of junk food sure to clog your arteries.

You recognize Optimus Prime and Ratchet, of course. The latter is stationed at the biggest computer screen which is on a raised platform against the wall, typing on a giant keyboard with glowing characters you have never seen before, and pointedly ignoring everyone else. Standing next to Optimus is a shorter yellow Autobot who is very adorable with car doors on his back that kind of look like wings and you have the urge to run over and hug him but you know it probably wouldn’t end well because you’re not sure if you have the strength to stand on your own. There’s one whose finish is green, and is fairly round and bulky, and reminds you of a wrecking ball for some reason. Finally, there’s one whose height is about the same as Knock Out’s when he used the matter displacer to make himself small so you two could—now was not the time to think about that. Their color scheme was pink and blue, and they were lithe and elegantly built. 

All of them have cyan eyes. You remember Megatron’s burning red eyes, like hellfire, and wonder why the Cybertronians seem to fall into the trope of “blue equals good, red equals bad.”

“Bumblebee.” 

Optimus gestures to the yellow Autobot, who waves at you and beeps cutely, and you are going to die of cuteness because his name is Bumblebee and he’s yellow and he just beeped at you. 

“Bulkhead.” 

The bulky (his name fits, you gotta admit) green one gives you a curt nod. “Hey,” he rumbles deeply, and just stares at Knock Out stonily without saying a word to him.

“And Arcee.” 

The smallest one scoffs bitterly and doesn’t even acknowledge you. “You’ve got real ball bearings to ask to join the Autobots after everything you’ve done,” she snarls at Knock Out, because you’re definitely certain that she is a she, and you already know that you’re going to develop a crush on her. She storms off without another word and disappears down one of the hallways leading away from the main control center you are currently in.

“That’s a better reaction than her trying to rip my spark out,” Knock Out mutters under his breath. You’re the only one who hears it.

“The other members of our team are away on an urgent mission of their own,” Optimus continues, watching Arcee’s retreat with a resigned expression. He doesn’t have the faceplate mask on anymore. He’s hot. Not as hot as Arcee or Knock Out, but still. You can appreciate his finer features. “Regardless, know that you are welcome within our midst, Miss ___.”

“Thanks. I think.” You shift in Knock Out’s arms so that you don’t have to keep turning your head to look at everyone. “So, uh...how the hell did we manage to get away from Lord Deceptidick?”

Knock Out laughs at that. Full-bodied, natural, somewhat delirious laughter. You can feel it vibrating through his frame. “Oh, that’s a good one. How did I never think of that?”

It occurs to you that he hasn’t even made a move to put you down. Which is fine by you, because you still don’t think you can quite stand on your own, and you enjoy being held by him. Especially when naked. Preferably when naked, actually.

_ Stop being so damn horny, me. Now is not the time! _

“Ratchet was able to create a ground bridge while I had Megatron distracted,” Optimus answers your query as Knock Out continues to shake with cackles. Really, the “Lord Deceptidick” comment wasn’t  _ that  _ funny, but you think his stress levels are so high that he’s reached a bit of a breaking point. “He is a formidable opponent, but he wasn’t expecting neither Ratchet or I to be present. He was focused on Knock Out. And Knock Out...was focused on protecting you.”

“Of course I was,” Knock Out snaps vehemently, all laughter gone in an instant. “I’m  _ not  _ a Decepticon anymore! Maybe I’ll never be an Autobot. But that doesn’t mean I won’t let anything happen to her. I couldn’t save Breakdown, but I sure as slag can keep her safe!”

The proclamation echoes loudly in the air and dangles from every inch of the high ceiling. Everyone gawks at Knock Out; even Ratchet, who was deep in scanning something on the computer screen, turns to stare with a flash of confoundment etched into his faceplate. 

You know it, then.

Your feelings about Knock Out aren’t exactly as complicated as you previously had thought them to be. You love him. You’re  _ in love _ with him.

And it’s going to make everything so much more awkward.

“...we will allow you to remain in the outpost for the time being,” Optimus finally says, coming forward and placing a servo on Knock Out’s shoulder. “We will be monitoring you, however, and you will only be allowed outside of the base when accompanied by another Autobot. While I believe your intentions are good, I hope you understand our reluctance to put our full trust in you due to our previous interactions.”

“I suppose being a prisoner here is better than being offlined at the whim of Megatron,” Knock Out mutters, shrugging Optimus’s servo off. He suddenly hoists you up without warning and you let out a startled shriek as he raises you to his shoulder, carefully depositing you into a sitting position. “She’ll be staying with me,” he declares as you adjust so your butt isn’t in danger of scooting off of his slippery frame. “It isn’t safe anywhere else, now that the Decepticons know who she is.”

_ Because of me,  _ you hear in the bitterness of his tone, and you frown deeply at the silent self-incrimination.

Optimus nods in understanding. “We will make arrangements with Agent Fowler. He is already on his way. There are sleeping quarters left behind by the previous human occupants that we can turn into something suitable. My apologies, Miss ___,” he switches his gaze to you and bows his head humbly. “I do not imagine this to be an ideal situation, but as Autobots, we are duty-bound to protect the innocent from the Decepticons.”

“I don’t mind!” you insist, because really, you don’t. You hated your job at your uncle’s shop and the house you rented from him never had hot enough water. The only thing that made Jasper worth it was Knock Out. “I knew what I was getting into when I insisted on coming with him. Besides...you’ve got some sweet accommodations here, staying in an abandoned missile silo!”

“You know what this place is?” Ratchet asks suspiciously from his little control center area.

“I've got a bachelor’s degree in history, baby,” you boast, shooting him the finger guns combined with a wink. “Had to do a research paper on the Cold War era in my senior year. Combed through hundreds of images from defunct silos for primary sources. Are the missiles still here? Are they active? Can we shoot them at that one ship all the Deceptidicks are on?”

“No, no, and no,” Ratchet grunts uninterestedly before turning his attention back to whatever he was doing, and you stick your tongue out at his posterior. You wanted to push the big red button.

“You mentioned a proposition involving intel on Decepticon plans,” Optimus reminds Knock Out, and you can’t help but notice that he seems to be paying particular attention to you sitting on his shoulder. You suppose you can’t blame him; all of their interactions before today had been hostile, and he probably hadn’t expected him to be so chummy with a human, if most of the Decepticons despised your kind and wanted to squish you all underneath their clunky metal feet.

“Here.” Two panels in the center of Knock Out’s chassis open up (you weren’t even aware it was possible) and he plunges a servo inside, pulling out two things from an apparent storage unit inside his own body. Your knowledge of Cybertronian biology is ever-expanding. 

He holds out the two items towards Optimus. You recognize the relic of Iacon but the second object is a vial of strange lime-green liquid that has a slight bioluminescent tint. “A matter displacer,” Knock Out explains with a short nod at said relic. “It...has its uses.” He slides an impish glance towards you and you feel your face heat up. It takes everything in you not to kick his neck. It would probably hurt you more than him, anyway. 

“And the remaining samples of your synthetic energon. I destroyed everything in my lab before I left. My own research on it exists only in my processor now.”

You don’t miss the way Ratchet’s body stiffens and how his helm cranes slightly, though his optics remain on the computer screen in front of him.

“As for intel? You’ll get it after I recharge and get some proper material to fix my finish,” Knock Out drops the vial and the relic into Optimus’s servos, eyeing him expectantly. 

“Bulkhead and Bumblebee will show you to a berth chamber.” Optimus at last tears his intense gaze from you and focuses on the other two Autobots. “And show Miss ___ where she may rest for the time being.”

“I’m fine to stay wherever Knock Out is,” you pipe up. “So I can help him with recovering and stuff. I’m really good with a buffer.” You flex your (admittedly pathetic) arm muscles for emphasis, and Knock Out snickers knowingly.

You’re escorted down a different hallway than the one Arcee disappeared in. It’s wide enough for one Cybertronian, so Bumblebee takes the lead while Bulkhead follows behind Knock Out closely. 

“Try anything, Con, and you’ll be tasting my fist,” Bulkhead warns from behind, and Bumblebee lets out an affirmative booping noise that you still think is fucking adorable.

“My oh my. How tough you are,” Knock Out taunts. “Threatening me while I’m toting a fragile organic lifeform on my shoulders.”

“I wouldn’t hurt the  _ human _ !” Bulkhead starts to protest, and you whip your head around to glare at him.

“And you won’t be hurting Knock Out, because he’s not going to do anything, and if he does,  _ I’ll _ be the one to kick his ass.” You don’t know where the sudden bravado has come from but you appreciate it nonetheless.

“Why are you even with him? You do know he’s a Con, right?” Bulkhead insists. “Do you have  _ any  _ idea what he’s done?”

“He’s my friend.”

You’ve never actually said it out loud, and you regret not saying it in the desert, and you hope you don’t regret saying it now.

“He’s my friend who regrets his actions and wants to do something to make up for him. And if you can’t respect that, then stop with the high and mighty act. It doesn’t make you any better than him.”

Bulkhead simmers in silence and you know you’ve won this round.  _ If only Knock Out would stop purposefully antagonizing the Autobots _ , you think when the familiar feel of his servo tapping your leg brings your attention back to him.

“Thank you,” he mouths, optics averted, and you grin.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead lead you to a large steel door at the very end of the hallway. It looks like the type of door you would find in a commercial freezer, and the handle is actually a heavy lever. Bumblebee opens it up and steps inside, motioning for Knock Out to follow. 

The room is wide, tall enough for a Cybertronian, and sparsely decorated. The walls, floor, and ceiling are concrete. In the center is a huge flat surface of some kind that looks like a table trying to be a reclining chair. Army-grade crates are stacked up neatly against one of the walls labeled with the same alien characters that had been on Ratchet’s keyboard. A few oil barrels line the opposite wall. There’s an old speaker system hanging from the ceiling, and judging by the mass of cobwebs clinging to its dingy paint, it’s seen better days.

“Cozy,” you comment dryly. They needed a new home interior designer. And some paint on the walls. 

“It’s the only berth chamber that hasn’t already been claimed.” Bulkhead crosses his arms menacingly and gestures to the oil barrels and crates with a jerk of the helm. “You can refuel with that. Somebot will come by with medicinal supplies. And, uh, human-appropriate bedding. We only have junk fuel though, since the kids usually come after school.”

You do a double-take. “Kids?” It explains the little recreation area that you saw in the main lobby, though. 

Bumblebee beeps and crouches down, holding his servo in the air to about the same height as you would expect from a teenager. 

You groan exasperatedly. “I know what kids are! I’m just confused why there are kids running around an abandoned military base with a bunch of alien robots!”

“We’re their guardians,” Bulkhead explains. “They accidentally got involved in our affairs, and so now we protect them. It’s dangerous to know who and what we are. We have to watch them and make sure they’re safe, because they’ve become a target for Decepticon attacks.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar,” Knock Out drawls, and Bulkhead and Bumblebee glower at him simultaneously.

“Because you’ve been a factor leading to them being in danger!” Bulkhead points out angrily.

“I was actually referring to the propensity of humans learning about us and then finding themselves in constant danger.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been involved in multiple scenarios where the humans have been at risk because of your direct involvement! If you’re going to protect that one,” Bulkhead points to you as he and Bumblebee begin to make for the door, “then you should start telling her the whole truth.”

And then they’re gone, the heavy door slamming shut behind them, leaving you and Knock Out alone.

“Well. That was fun.” You shift uncomfortably on Knock Out’s shoulder, your butt beginning to cramp from sitting on metal for too long. “They really don’t like you, huh?”

He reaches up and grabs you—gently, careful not to poke you with his claws—and places you down on the floor. “If you hadn’t been with me, I think it would have gone worse,” he confesses quietly, flopping dramatically down on the weird table-chair-bed thing. A plume of dust rises up and he waves a servo in the air to dispense it, scowling in disapproval. “Autobots are softhearted when it comes to humans. Though,” he crosses his legs and puts his helm in one servo, leaning over rather suggestively to look at you. “I suppose I am too.”

You recognize the expression he’s wearing. It’s way too similar to the one he wore last night. So much has happened since then that it feels like a lifetime ago. “Nuh-uh. No making bedroom eyes at me. We need to talk.” You shake your head and scan the room for a place to sit, but realize the only place is the thing Knock Out is laying on, so you hoist yourself up by grabbing onto his arm and scrambling onto it.

“...I know,” Knock Out says quietly, rolling over so that you’re looking at his back. 

“It doesn’t have to be about...last night. Or Breakdown. But I’d like you to tell me more about your time as a Decepticon. If it’s okay, I mean,” you add hurriedly, because you remember his emotional outburst in the desert and don’t want to overwhelm him by making him bring up things that are potentially triggering.

“No. I need to talk about it all. I’m just—” He stops short, and you lean your back against his and face the door.

“Not good with feelings?” you supply softly.

“Sweet Primus, no. Never have been. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I will try. I  _ want _ to try.” 

You say nothing. You want him to do this at his own pace. 

One minute of silence turns to two. Then five. Then ten. You think maybe he’s fallen asleep—gone into recharge—whatever the proper term is for it when Knock Out blurts out, “Breakdown knew about you.”

Well. You hadn’t been expecting that.

“I told him I wanted to learn more about humans. And that I planned on finding one to teach me firsthand. He thought I had gone mad, of course. But he kept my secret, and sometimes he would go watch over you when I was preoccupied with something else. From a distance in his alt-mode.” He lets out a fond little laugh full of warmth. “He was never one for stealth, but his spark was in the right place.”

You vaguely recall how over the last six months it felt like you had been seeing the same truck parked a couple blocks away from your uncle’s every now and then. It had been huge, like a monster truck, and equipped with the biggest you had ever seen. You’d never thought anything of it; you figured it was just some dude’s souped-up ride. But you know better now.

“I never even asked him. He did it because he wanted to. Because we were...Breakdown was my…” Knock Out takes a deep shuddering breath that you can feel at the base of your own spine. “On Cybertron, we had something called Conjunx Endura. Your kind would call them a spouse. We go through a ritual to bind ourselves to another whom we care deeply for. Breakdown and I never did the ritual—we never had the chance to. But I  _ loved _ him, sweetspark. He was the only thing that kept me tied to the Decepticons, because he believed that Megatron’s way was the only way to survive. And then Megatron killed him.”

Your mouth is dry. No matter how much you swallow, it feels like the desert has laid waste to your tongue. “Knock Out, I’m so—” you begin, but he cuts you off in a frantic tone.

“We joined the Decepticons before Cybertron’s collapse. He wanted to prove that he could fight, that he was strong, without being told he wasn’t meeting standards that didn’t apply to him. I wanted a place where I could do my research, a place where I wasn’t limited by the traditional mindset of my superiors. And Megatron seemed like the obvious choice; he wanted to erase the caste system of Cybertron, so anybot could be what they wanted to be. But power corrupts. And he began to care more about conquering other worlds than saving his own.”

He presses up against your back and you feel how he shudders like it’s your own. “We live for far longer than you can comprehend. Millions of your Earth years. And we have had our optics set on your planet when your ancestors were still hiding in caves. Megatron will suck it dry of everything it has to offer, and then move on to the next planet, as he has done for the last five million years or so.”

It was just one bombshell after another. He’s right—you can’t even begin to comprehend living for so long. You can’t understand fighting a war that has taken as long as it took the entirety of the human race to evolve. 

It’s insane. 

It’s incredible. 

It’s overwhelming.

“I hated your planet at first. I thought you squishy organics were disgusting. I didn’t give a damn if Megatron destroyed you all. And yes, I threatened the little humans whom the Autobots have declared to be under their protection, on more than one occasion.” The admission doesn’t surprise you after hearing Bulkhead’s accusations, but your heart still feels heavy like lead hearing it in Knock Out’s one voice. “Meeting you was an accident. That day, I’d had enough of being treated like scrap beneath Megatron’s pedes. All I wanted to do was forget the realities of my existence and stay in stasis until Primus knows how long. But then you opened my door, and you were so  _ alive _ that I just...wanted to know more. I wanted to know  _ you.” _

You want to cry.

So you do.

Hot, fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks. You spin around and hug Knock Out from behind as best you can, though it’s impossible with your tiny human arms. “I’m sorry,” you whisper against his back. “I’m sorry you went through all of that. I’m sorry that my sorry’s probably won’t help at all. But I’m so fucking sorry, Knock Out.” 

“I meant what I said this morning. About you being something important to me.” He reaches an arm back, even though the angle is awkward, and runs one clawed finger along the top of your head as you hold him from behind. “I don’t know if it’s to the same degree as Breakdown was. And it isn’t fair to you. But I want to...continue having whatever it is that we have.”

“It doesn’t need a label,” you soothe in a soft voice, because even though you know you’re in love with him, it’s true. It doesn’t feel like he wants you to be a replacement for Breakdown; there is simply something between the two of you that feels right, even if it doesn’t make sense. “I want to be here for you in any way I can.”

As a response, Knock Out rolls back around at last. It’s unexpected and you don’t have time to react before you’re being folded into his arms and he presses your smaller form against him, resting his helm on the top of your head. “Thank you for existing,” he whispers in a voice weak with vulnerability. “Had you not, I would have torn my own spark out.”

The weight inside your chest deepens. Your heart  _ aches _ , but you know it’s nothing compared to the agony Knock Out must be feeling.

It may not be the correct response. Nonetheless, you raise your hand and rest it against his cheek, look deep into his optics, and say, “That would have been a shame. Think of the dents it would have given your finish.”

He laughs. A cavalier spark of light returns to his red optics and he shakes his helm, the somber thin line of his mouth curling up in a smug smile. “Oh, yes, it would have been absolutely tragic. The stars would have wept at my mutilated corpse and given me a spot in a constellation so beautiful I would outshine your planet's sun.”

“Okay, Cassiopeia. Tell me how well that works out when you manage to offend a deity so bad with all your boasting that they send a giant space monster after you.” You roll your eyes and jab at him lightly with your elbow, utterly thankful that it was the correct response after all. 

“Are you saying I’m as gorgeous as a god, sweetspark?” His voice drops to a charming purr.

“You and I both know that you’re  _ literally  _ one of the most attractive beings in the universe, and if I say anything more it’ll be unnecessarily feeding your galaxy-sized ego.”

“ _ One _ of the most attractive beings in the universe? Not  _ the _ most? Sweetspark, you wound me!” He unwraps one arm from your body and presses the back of his servo to his faceplate with a theatrical swoon.

“Sorry, Knock Out,” you answer with a nonchalant shrug. “You’ll never be on the same level as Keira Knightley in the  _ Pirate of the Caribbean _ movies. Talk to me again when you’ve become the catalyst for awakening an entire generation of young pre-teens’ sexualities.”

He pauses thoughtfully.

“...does Starscream count?”

“No, Knock Out. Starscream does not count.”

“Well. Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

You really don’t like Agent Fowler.

You know he’s just doing his job. But his job is to be a liaison agent for the American government to the Autobots. And you really don’t like the American government. 

It’s been three days since Knock Out denounced the Decepticons and asked to join the Autobots. It’s been three days of Fowler arriving at the base with a new stack of paperwork for you to fill out until the ink in the pen runs out. It’s been three days of Knock Out healing from his wounds and shutting himself off from the Autobots, and three days of you trying to get into their good graces with your award winning personality.

Okay. Maybe that last one is a leap, because really, it’s just been three days of you annoying the fuck out of Ratchet.

“Thank you, Miss ___,” Agent Fowler says in his customary “I don’t get paid enough for this shit” voice he has used every time you finish signing a stack of paperwork. 

It’s basically hundreds of confirmations that no, you won’t tell a soul about the Cybertronians and that yes, if you do, the government is allowed to do whatever they want with you. And permissions for the government to create a fake backstory to tell your family just why you’ve suddenly up and disappeared. They decided to go the “backpacking across Europe to soul search with no access to modern technology unless you’re in a major city” route. It’s so stupid, and totally something that you would do, that you imagine everyone believes it. 

You just feel bad about leaving your uncle alone with your spreadsheets. You know he won’t give them the respect they deserve.

You even get a new, government-issued phone. It’s a burner. A flip phone. With no way to access the internet. And the only two numbers in it are Fowler’s and the Autobot base’s main line. When you tried adding Knock Out’s, the phone automatically shut down. You tried it four times before realizing the programming wouldn’t allow anything else.

You wish the fucking thing at least had Tetris.

“Please tell me this is the last time you’ll make me sign my entire life away to the government,” you groan, putting your head down on the desk of his tiny repurposed office inside of the base. You’re pretty sure it used to be a janitor’s closet. It still smells like lemon Pledge.

“You haven’t signed your life away. This is all for your own protection. And yes, it’s the last time; all the paperwork should be in order now.” Fowler shuffles the papers into a neat stack and places them into his briefcase. “The reason there was so much is because—”

“Because I hung out with a big bad  _ Decepticon _ for half a year,” you interrupt miserably, flexing your writing hand into a ball and squeezing it. It’s cramping so bad right now. You haven’t written that much since college. “You’ve made it perfectly clear, dude.”

“And you’ll address me as Agent Fowler, not dude.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” You flick a dust bunny on the desk at his face and instead the weightless thing just rolls off the side and disappears to the floor. “If we’re done, I’m going to go check on Knock Out. Since I’m not allowed to do anything else in this shithole.”

The moment Fowler arrived, he instructed Optimus to not let you leave without an escort; just like the conditions they had set on Knock Out. So far, neither of you had been allowed said escort. You suppose you couldn’t blame them. They didn’t trust Knock Out, and they didn’t trust you for being so close to him.

You wondered how much they would freak if they knew just how close you two really were. 

“It’s for your own protection,” Fowler repeats like a broken record, and you roll your eyes.

“ _ Sure _ it is. And totally not because you think I’m going to attempt to signal the Decepticons to my location so they can kill all of the Autobots. Which I have absolutely  _ no _ intention of doing. Since the Decepticons hurt my  _ friend _ Knock Out. Who wants  _ nothing _ to do with them and wants to help the Autobots fight them.” 

Fowler remains unmoved by your words. As usual. So you try a different tactic.

“The least you could do is let me go get some McDonald’s. All I want is some nuggets. Is that too much to ask for?”

It’s true. You want nuggets  _ so bad _ . There was the vending machine full of junk food, but it had nothing on a McNuggets meal. Plus, all the food and supplies that Fowler had brought in for you was disgustingly healthy. There were way too many vegetables involved and not enough bread. 

“I’ll give Jack some money and he can go pick up something for you,” Fowler answers indifferently. 

“...ugh. Fine.” You throw your hands up in defeat. It was wholly unfair that a bunch of kids could come and go as they pleased but you, a legal and mature adult, were basically a prisoner in everything but the actual word.

You met them for the first time yesterday—Jack Darby, Raf Esquivel, and Miko Nakadai. They didn’t react as poorly to you as you had anticipated from the Autobots, but it was obvious that you weren’t going to be best friends with them any time soon. They treated you how you used to treat the raccoons in your backyard back home. With wary respect and a long stick in hand in case you had to scare them away.

Fowler smiles politely and folds his hands in front of him. “Excellent. I’ll be keeping in touch. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you to make your stay more comfortable here. I know this isn’t the best situation, and I wouldn’t want you to be absolutely miserable.”

“Install a hot tub with massage jets and get me a macaroni and cheese buffet with every topping known to man, and I think we’ll be even,” you quip hopefully, giving your best puppy dog eyes.

“Not in my department’s budget, I’m afraid.”

He gets up from his desk and makes for the door. You do the same and flip him off behind his back as you follow him down the long, industrially-lit hallway back to the base’s main control room. His car is parked by the large shutter door and as he opens the door and begins to slide in, he says, “Ratchet, could you please open the—”

Ratchet, at his usual place in the center command area, grunts and pushes a button on the control panel. The door groans to life and slides open. Fowler bids you a farewell with a terse nod of the head and cruises out down the tunnel, the car disappearing as Ratchet shuts the shutters once again.

“I don’t know why he couldn’t just take me with him to McDonald’s,” you mutter irately. 

Much to your surprise, upon first meeting Fowler, you had been told that the Autobot’s outpost was actually located near Jasper. The abandoned missile silo was only a few miles out of town, but in the opposite direction of where you had ever ventured out to. It made sense why you met Knock Out in such a seemingly innocuous place, now—he confirmed that the Decepticon were aware the Autobots operated in the general area, but never knew exactly where they were hiding. This was on account of the thick walls and precautions meant to protect against nuclear fall out scrambling any kind of scanning system.

You had to hand it to them. They had the perfect hideout. You’re just a little bitter that they were right under your nose this whole time.

The base is empty today except for you, Ratchet, and Knock Out. Everyone else is on various patrols. You weren’t lying when you said you wanted to check on Knock Out, but something at Ratchet’s corner of cantankerousness catches your eyes and you can’t help but wander over curiously.

On a small exam table, surrounded by various tools that you have absolutely no clue as to the purpose of, are two things. One is the vial of green fluid Knock Out called synthetic energon—something that Ratchet actually created when their energon stores were hopelessly low. And something that Megatron wanted, so Knock Out was supposed to have analyzed it and made more. It didn’t go as planned.

The other thing is a cube, about the size of your hand, of cyan-blue material that glows eerily under the lights of the computer screens Ratchet is dutifully monitoring. 

No one is allowed to touch anything in Ratchet’s corner of cantankerousness. Not even Optimus. Definitely not you. But still.

You want to touch the glowy blue thing. 

Ratchet is wholly absorbed in whatever simulations he’s playing out on the screen. His back is turned to you. You shuffle up the steps to the control center, moving as slowly and silently as possible, keeping one eye trained on every movement Ratchet makes. He doesn’t notice you, not even when you’re right at the table. It’s almost exactly your height, but the blue cube is on the edge, so you can at least poke it.

You reach out a hand and are only centimeters away from your finger making contact when you hear Ratchet bellow, “ _ Don’t touch that! _ ”

You’re so startled by the volume and venom in his voice that you stumble back, snatching your hand away like you’ve been bitten.

“Sweet Primus, did I not make myself clear when I told you  _ not to touch anything _ ?” Ratchet growls as he scoops up the blue cube in a servo, holding it aloft so that it’s way out of your reach. “Do you know what could have happened if this had made contact with your organic flesh?!”

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Uh. No. Absolutely no idea.”

“This is energon. Pure grade energon with no added elements to it. It’s toxic to organic species. It can cause death if the exposure is high enough,” he explains hotly, glaring at you with hard optics. 

“Really? But I was fine when—” You cough into your hand, feeling your face heat up slightly as you realize what you were about to say. “...when I helped Knock Out clean up the stuff leaking out of his injuries.”

There was no way in hell you were admitting to Knock Out creampieing you. You’re still wearing a scarf around your throat to hide his love bites. They haven’t shown signs of fading any time soon. 

Ratchet snorts. “That’s different. When we consume energon, our bodies break it down. When we ‘bleed,’ the energon our blood is composed of is a by-product of what we need for fuel. A human could have contact with it and would be fine, unless they had an allergy to certain metals.”

“Oh. Interesting.” You gesture to the vial of synthetic energon on the table. It’s actually out of your view at this angle but you know it’s still up there. “What about the green stuff? Is that toxic too?”

Something passes in Ratchet’s expression. A painful remorse. “Very,” he replies in a subdued tone. “More so than what I’m holding. It is made from a combination of Cybertronian and Earth chemicals and elements, and is dangerously unstable without the proper synthesization.”

Before you can ask anymore questions he abruptly turns back around to focus on his computer screens. “Now leave me alone. You’re interrupting my work.”

The surly dismissal is to be expected from him. You’re learning the Autobots’ personalities a little bit at a time, but one thing is for certain about Ratchet—he’s the personification of the grumpy old man trope. 

You sigh and mumble a farewell, but of course he doesn’t answer. 

You make your way back to the room you and Knock Out are sharing. The layout of the base was confusing to you the first day, but you’ve gotten used to navigating the winding hallways and slightly derelict tunnels. It’s easy to remember how to get back to your room since it’s at the very end of a hallway anyway.

You tug on the heavy lever to open the door and swing inside. “Agent Fucker won’t let me get nuggets!” you exclaim as you stomp past Knock Out, going directly to your “living” area and throwing yourself onto the bed with a huff. 

The room itself has been appropriately furnished for your human needs—well, as appropriately as Fowler’s so-called “department budget” allows. The living area has a simple bed, a closet full of most of your clothes (Fowler claims he only grabbed the essentials for now) a fridge, a microwave, a small dining table with a chair, and a TV that only plays DVD’s and the weather channel. Sectioned off by some curtains is your bathroom, which you have no idea how they managed to rig up in such a short amount of time. There’s a toilet, a sink, and a tub with a shower head. 

It’s a little jarring when compared to the utilitarian accommodations of Knock Out, if you’re being honest. He’s been given his own workbench, and a monitor, but other than that he doesn’t have much. You don’t think it’s a case of the Autobots refusing to give him a certain level of comfort but rather the fact that Cybertronians don’t need a lot of things to live in the first place. He hasn’t complained about his arrangements yet, and he’s usually good about whining about every little inconvenience. So you figure he’s making do with what he has. For now.

“Don’t you have some frozen ones?” Knock Out questions from his workbench, typing away at a data pad. It’s the only thing he’s requested. He wants to get as much of his research written down again as he can. He’s sequestered himself in the chamber mostly because of that and not so much because it means he doesn’t have to interact with the Autobots. At least, you think so. He hasn’t said otherwise. 

“Yes, but they’re  _ plant-based _ and not real chicken nuggets, because everything Fowler has given me for food is expensive healthy stuff that tastes like cardboard!” you grumble with your face shoved in the pillows. “I crave processed sugars and sodium, Knock Out. I need them.”

“We could always make a break for it and I can drive you to the disgusting restaurant that smells like burnt oil and saturated fats,” Knock Out offers smugly.

“Hey! Don’t disrespect McDonald’s!” You hurl one of the pillows at him as hard as you can. He easily deflects it with a flick of the wrist without even looking up from his data pad, sending it back at you at an alarming speed. You barely manage to catch it and when you do, you wrap your arms around it and squeeze it hard. “Besides...you know how well that would go.”

He ex-vents and nods begrudgingly. “Oh, I do. The one called Arcee has threatened me approximately thirty-six times with various ways she will hurt me if I try to leave without a proper Autobot escort. We have only been here for three days.” 

You sigh dreamily into the pillow you’re squeezing. “Mm. She’s hot. I want her to kick my ass.”

“If she did that, you would most likely expire, doll.”

“Maybe, but at least my last living moments would be enjoyable!”

“Oh? So you’re into pain now, are you?” Knock Out turns to look at you with a devilish smirk on his faceplate, optics narrow with indecent intrigue.

“N-no!” you sputter, cheeks flaming with the heat of a thousand burning suns. “I just meant—Arcee is just—ugh, fuck you!”

“Only if you ask nicely,” he sings smugly as he did on the day you first met him, prompting you to shriek in humiliation and lob the pillow at him once again. He catches it in one servo with a gleeful chuckle. But it’s short-lived because moments later guilt begins to bloom along his grin and it shifts to a sobered grimace, and he shifts his gaze to look at the floor. “That was...interfacing isn’t...you don’t have to—”

“But what if I want to?” 

You don’t know who’s more surprised at the way you’ve interrupted him; you, or Knock Out.

“What if I want to?” you repeat, swallowing down all the voices that are telling you this may be a terrible idea. A choir of Karens. You really hate that bitch. 

For once, Knock Out is at a loss for words. He just stares at you, uncertain, and so you continue.

“I liked it. With you. I want...to do it again,” you admit shyly, averting your eyes and focusing on the neon green light of the microwave’s clock. “And it’s not just because it was the best sex of my life. I felt...connected to you, but I don’t think I can describe how or why.” You sigh shakily and shrug, face on fire. A similar inferno began to burn deep inside you as you think back to the night in the garage, and the way he held you, and the way it  _ felt _ when he was inside you. “It was really special for me, Knock Out,” you finish quietly, hesitantly, fearfully. “It’s okay if it isn’t the same for you.”

You wait for a response, hands trembling and mouth feeling like it’s been stuffed full of cotton.

He says nothing. You think you’ve fucked up, that you should have just stayed silent and ignored your innermost voice for once.

But then Knock Out growls out in a thick voice absolutely dripping with carnal undertones, “Come over here, ___.”

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of hearing your name come out of his mouth.

You don’t remember how you and Knock Out ended up on the berth. One moment you’re scrambling off of your bed, rushing desperately at Knock Out, and then the next you’re on top of him as he’s laid out on the surface of the berth. He’s sucking at your scarf-free neck, glossa flicking along the veins in your throat as his servos rip through your shirt and pants like paper. Next time, you should probably be the one to remove your own clothing. 

“I want you,” Knock Out hisses against your skin and the sheer salaciousness of every syllable is already making you wet. “I want you every day, in every corner of this Pit-forsaken room, on every surface.”

You whimper slightly as your core starts to get hot and bothered. God, if you could fuck yourself on just his voice, even that would be enough. 

He slices through the straps of your bra and your breasts come spilling out eagerly; your underwear is shredded into nonexistence, and the sleekness of his finish suddenly upon your sex sends delicious tingles through your entire nervous system. “I want the Autobots to know that you’re  _ mine, _ ” he snarls as he grabs your hips and sides because his servos are so big at his full size and presses you down against him, grinding you into his hips. “I want them to hear us fragging, I want their systems to overload when they hear you beg for my spike, I want them to know that I’m  _ yours _ .”

Your skin feels tight and prickly as a wave of sheer horniness passes over you. His animalistic, frenzied tone of voice honestly is enough to get you off right then and there. “Y-yes…!” You nod your head frantically, spreading your legs so that you’re straddling his wide waist a little better, hands gripping at the layers of red plating on his chassis. At this angle you can admire how nicely his scratches are healing, and he’s almost completely back to his gorgeous and glossy finish. 

Then it occurs to you for just the briefest of moments that Knock Out does have the matter displacer to reduce his size.

The epiphany only serves to turn you on even more.

“Knock Out,” you breathe heavily, rubbing your slick sex along the area where you know his spike is safely secured, “I want—I want—”

He suddenly pushes you forward and his mouth covers yours before you can finish your fractured sentence. It’s strange, kissing him when he’s three times your size, but he still tastes like the stars and moon and everything else as beautiful as him that hangs in the vast universe surrounding you. 

Knock Out slides one servo up your sides and grabs both of your breasts at once as the other slides further down your waist and wriggles between your thighs. You gasp into his mouth as he starts to rub at your clit and squeeze your tits at the same time, the movements as synchronized and flawless as a well-oiled machine. “Do you want my spike, sweetspark?” he taunts against your lips. “Do you want me to make you cum so hard you think you’re in another galaxy?”

It’s unfair how erotic his voice is. Combined with the dangerous thrill of his full-sized claws ghosting along your nipples and kneading at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, it makes your mind become a foggy mess. Electricity shoots through your veins. Your core is tight and loose at the same time. He just keeps rubbing, and squeezing, and  _ touching _ everywhere and your skin is on fire and you want to drown yourself in the flames. You must have taken too long to answer, losing yourself in the pleasure of his skilled fingers, because he suddenly lunges against your lips with even more savagery. His glossa pries them open and slithers in, licking and sucking and toying with your tongue in a depraved dance.

You keen into Knock Out’s harsh kiss as he ravages your mouth so wonderfully, babbling out, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…!”

The servo rubbing and fondling at your sex disappears for just a moment. You want to sob at the sudden disappearance of pressure against your clit and your hips buck desperately, until you hear a familiar click and then something absolutely  _ massive  _ is rubbing against your ass. You choke on air and Knock Out’s glossa when you feel the curve of his full-sized spike slide under your absolutely drenched cunt. You’d thought it was big before. Now it was just...titanous. You falter somewhat as your brain fully processes what’s about to happen, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. 

Knock Out immediately senses your shift in mood and breaks away from the kiss, cupping your cheek with a servo, and your entire face is cradled lovingly. “We can stop here if it’s too much,” he murmurs kindly, a sultry heat still blazing in his voice. 

“No,” you shake your head and take a deep breath, licking your lips. “I want to try.” You also want to glance down and get a good look at his spike but you’re afraid it’ll overwhelm you so much that you’ll pass out from a mix of alarm and horniness.

Knock Out grins. “That’s my good girl.” 

You can’t help but let out a strangled little moan at that, because it turns out that you’re really into getting praised, but before you can fully appreciate the flare of desire his words put in your lower belly he’s pushing inside.

Your mouth hangs open as your pussy is stretched and stretched and  _ stretched.  _ You can’t tell where you begin and he ends. You know he’s not all the way inside—it would probably break you if he was. But you’re so fucking  _ full _ , and your hips are trembling. Your mind is going numb. 

You don’t even realize that you’re the one moving, and you don’t know how long you’ve been doing it, but Knock Out’s mouth is at your ear saying, “That’s it, sweetspark, just like that...so good, so good for me...look at how you take my spike…”

You’re drooling. Your eyes are rolling in the back of your head as you ride Knock Out, whimpering and moaning and making all sorts of obscene noises as the ribbed surface of his spike reach every desperate corridor inside you. You’re soaked in a sheen of sweat as you feel him inch just a little deeper, and he’s hitting your very core as you lift your hips up and slam back down rhythmically. The room is filled with wet sloshing as your juices drip down his spike with every movement.

The very small portion of your brain that is still semi-coherent hopes he’s taking notes. For research purposes, of course.

You slide down another centimeter and you’re even fuller than before—fuller than what you thought was physically possible. The sensations and ecstasy are too much to describe. Knock Out groans shakily and hisses through gritted teeth, “Look down, sweetspark…”

You thought all your motor skills had up in left in favor for focusing on fucking yourself on his spike, but you manage to follow the half-lidded gaze of his optics downward. There’s a bulge in your lower stomach. A bulge that moves every time you do, and you know it’s him, and one hand shoots down to fondle your clit desperately while the other moves to cover your mouth so you can bite down on the meat of your palm. 

It’s too much.

“Do you see it? Do you see how well you fit me?” Knock Out at last thrusts upward with every word, pushing into you like a jackhammer. Your hips roll and sway in time with him, matching his pace even though it feels like your heart is about to give out. His mouth is at your throat again and his words vibrate through your skin as he scrapes his teeth along your jugular. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you, ___? All mine, all mine…!”

It’s  _ too much _ . You can’t handle it anymore. You’ll spontaneously combust in every cell of your body.

“ _ Ffffuuuuck _ ...!” you practically wail, jerking your fingers up and down in a sloppy circular motion around your clit, sobbing desperately as you grind onto his spike. “Gonna cum, gonna cum, oh, fuck, Knock Out, I’m gonna—”

You black out. 

When you come to, your entire body is tingling with the after effects of what you are one hundred percent certain is the greatest orgasm in the solar system. You’re limp on Knock Out’s chassis. Your insides are absolutely  _ throbbing _ . And aching. And missing having him fill you so completely because he’s no longer inside you. You can barely move your head, much less think about moving your head, but judging by the lack of sticky wetness dripping down your thighs you’re fairly certain there’s a layer of lavender-hued fluid on the floor beneath the berth.

“You come back to me, doll?” Knock Out murmurs into your hair quietly, one servo rubbing your back in comforting circles. “I didn’t think you would shut down like that.”

You mumble and refuse to open your eyes. Words aren't really working right now.

“I guess you could say...that frag was out of this world.”

You don’t have to look at him to know that Knock Out is wearing the biggest, cockiest, most self-assured smirk. You weakly shove your middle finger in the general direction of where you think his face is, but moving is hard so it doesn’t last very long. This time you really  _ won’t  _ be able to walk. Not until your insides stop feeling like they’ve been rearranged by a fucking blender. 

There’s a timid knock at the door. “Um,” comes the slightly hesitant voice of Jack Darby, “I have...a McNugget meal…? For...___? I-I can come back later!”

Your eyes shoot open.

_ Oh, god. The kid heard everything. _

You want to ask him how long he’s been there and how soundproof the walls of the base are and then insist that there’s absolutely no correlation between the two inquiries. 

“Nuggets…” you grunt pathetically instead, making grabby hand motions at Knock Out with much difficulty. 

“Hey. Adolescent fleshbag,” Knock Out calls out casually, “how long have you been waiting at the door?”

“Oh, uh. About a minute? B-but it sounded like someone was in pain, and I, uh...didn’t...want to get in the way?” Jack squeaks nervously through the steel door. You are absolutely mortified. 

Knock Out laughs with airy confidence. “No need to worry about that; we were just testing out a new theory of mine. Leave the food on the floor and ___ will get it when she’s finished with...her own hypothesis.”

“O-okay,” Jack replies quickly, and there’s the muffled sound of footsteps running away as fast as possible. 

You want to die. You want the floor beneath you to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Good news, sweetspark,” Knock Out cheerfully says as he pats the top of your head. “You got your nuggets after all!”

You suppose that if you’re going to go burn in hell, you’ll at least have the golden satisfaction of delicious chicken nuggets on the way down.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

You’ve been at the Autobot base for two full weeks when something that breaks the monotony of forced confinement finally happens. 

It’s breakfast. You’re choking down a bowl of tasteless adult cereal full of fiber and vitamins and other healthy shit. Knock Out is gone; for the past few days, he has at last begun to socialize with the Autobots despite their still obvious aversion to him, if only to do as he said he would do and share as much intel on the Decepticons as is deemed useful. You learned last night that none of the Autobots thought Starscream’s apparently obsession with cat videos is not on that list.

The two of you have settled into something that you don’t want to call “dating,” because you can’t actually go on dates, but it’s definitely more than what you had before. It’s the little things—knowing looks and brief touches, a general feeling of ease when you’re both together. Neither of you have actually talked about the mind blowing interfacing session that made you lose all ability to walk for two days. Or about your feelings in general. You don’t mind. Knock Out bared enough of his soul to you that day that nothing more needs to be said for now. You’re just happy to be there for him, no matter what capacity it is.

Jack Darby has never once made mention of the time he delivered your chicken nuggets. But he avoids looking you in the eyes whenever you two interact, and you know he knows that something less than scientific was going on in the room.

“At least he lets me play the Xbox with him,” you mutter to yourself as you pour the leftover soy milk down the sink drain. Seriously, “department budget” food was just  _ torture.  _ “Even if I am more of a PlayStation kinda girl.”

You exit the room and maneuver your way through the halls to reach the base’s central command center. You’ve got quite the complicated routine now: wake up, eat, bug Ratchet, gaze at Arcee longingly as she and Bumblebee train in a giant repurposed air hangar, ask Knock Out for some embarrassing personal detail about his former Decepticon coworkers (he has a lot about Starscream), bug Ratchet some more, ignore any and all texts from Agent Fucker—you mean Fowler—regarding your totally-not-a-hostage-situation, watch Bulkhead punch a giant wrecking ball he’s hooked to the ceiling for exercise, listen to Optimus Prime recite something inspiring about keeping Earth and its inhabitants safe from the Decepticons, bug Ratchet again…

If you had a planner, it would be completely booked.

It’s rather crowded in the main area today. All the Autobots are present and surround three towering figures you have never seen before. There’s a blue one with some red accents, a stony expression, and he has a big ass hammer strapped to his back. The only Autobot taller than him is Optimus Prime. The other two are mostly white in color. One has some blue and red, and he’s bouncing on his feet as if he can’t stay still as he animatedly talks to Bumblebee. He’s cute, but while Bumblebee is cute in a way that makes you want to hold him tenderly, this one is cute in a way that makes you want to touch his butt. The other has scars across his faceplate and is the definition of being robot-buff. He looks like he lifts skyscrapers for fun. He’s grinning widely at Bulkhead, who’s in mid laugh at something he said.

You feel like you’re intruding. You want to turn around and go back to your room to avoid meeting these new Autobots because you don’t feel like you have the mental fortitude for it right now. 

Your split second hesitation makes the decision for you, because just as you’re about to spin on your heels and go back the way you came, Optimus calls out, “Ah, good morning, Miss ___. Do you have a moment to talk?”

You shrug. You don’t think you really have a choice. “I guess.”

“These are the other members of Team Prime,” Optimus gestures to the three mechs you’ve not met yet. “Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack, and Smokescreen.” The big stoic one, the buff scarred one, and the one who looks like he’d rather be driving in circles to burn some energy all acknowledge you as their names are said. “They’ve been scouring your planet for artifacts from Cybertron. You recall the matter displacer Knock Out handed over to us? It is not the only relic of Iacon hidden on Earth.”

“Speaking of Knock Out, where is he?” You realize he’s nowhere to be found; he’s not even at Ratchet’s corner of cantankerousness, which is where he usually spends his time when he allows the Autobots to tolerate his presence.

Optimus straightens his shoulders. “That is what we wish to speak to you about. Ultra Magnus made a report that...did not sit well with Knock Out.”

“Okay? And?” You wish he would just spit it out. You’re getting a bad feeling about all this.

“I witnessed an interaction between Megatron and the human organization known as MECH,” Ultra Magnus tells you in a deep impassive voice. “While that in and of itself is not entirely uncommon, as we have come to discover Megatron has some form of agreement with them, I saw the Decepticon known as Breakdown with MECH. And I have been informed of the impossibility of that, due to Breakdown’s demise.”

You feel like you’re going to throw up. “So what are you trying to say?” you demand.

“Either Breakdown isn’t offline as Knock Out believed,” Optimus says quietly, “or MECH has succeeded in doing something we have feared since learning of their existence: they are somehow controlling Breakdown’s body.”

“And you  _ told  _ Knock Out about this?” You look up at Ultra Magnus, who is staring at you rather taciturnly. “Without realizing how badly it may affect him?”

“I was reporting to my superior officer. He happened to be present as I was doing so.”

“He immediately left towards the training section of the base.” Optimus glances around at the Autobots gathered. “We were about to send for you. We know you and he share a close bond, and we wanted you to ensure he is doing all right.”

“Yeah,” a young voice pipes up from behind the Autobots, “why  _ are  _ you and Doc Knock so friendly, anyway? He’s just a Con who will probably stab you when you’re not looking!”

As if today couldn’t get any worse.

The kids are here. You forgot it was Saturday. Jack, Raf, and Miko are all sitting in the little recreation area, watching your conversation with Optimus with intrigued expression. It’s Miko who has addressed you; she looks genuinely confused, despite how many times you’ve told the kids that Knock Out is your friend and isn’t a Decepticon anymore. But no one here seems to get that. 

You’ve fucking had it with them.

“You know what? I’m sick of your this.” You slam your fist against the wall behind you, immediately regretting it because you forgot it’s reinforced steel, but the pain is worth the noise it makes. You point to each one of the Autobots in turn (you leave the kids out because you know how different a person you were at their age) with a shaky finger, teeth bared and tongue on fire. “For two weeks you’ve all treated Knock Out like shit. You constantly degrade him, even when he’s trying to be helpful. How many times have you referred to him as ‘Con’? It wouldn’t kill you just to say his fucking  _ name _ ? And yes,” your voice raises an octave higher when you see Arcee open her mouth to protest, “I know what he’s done to you in the past. I know about the terrible things he did when he served Megatron. I, of all people, know that just because someone has changed for the better doesn’t mean you’re required to forgive and forget!  _ But for fuck’s sake _ !”

You’re screaming now, spittle flying from your mouth as you throw your hands in the air. “You can at least respect him! You can at least understand that he’s trying his best! You probably won’t let him out of the base with an escort even if he asked, will you?! Why do you think he hasn’t asked?! WHY DO YOU THINK I HAVEN’T, WHEN I’M JUST THE HUMAN HE RISKED HIS LIFE TO PROTECT?!” 

Your throat is raw. You’re shaking; from rage, from grief, from the absolute misery of knowing that no matter what Knock Out has insisted, you being there for him will never be enough. Not until the Autobots stop seeing him as a suspect, and start seeing him as an ally. As someone who, despite everything, is trying to make his life anew. And all he wanted was the Autobots to help him make that happen.

“Fuck you all.” Your voice has become barely a whisper. “I thought you were supposed to be the ones who showed compassion to those in need. But no. You’re just as bad as the Decepticons, and you don’t even realize it, do you?”

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you push past them all and run down the tunnel that leads to the training room. Your footfalls echo loudly along the walls like thunder booming. It’s too loud. Everything’s too loud. There’s a voice screeching at you like a banshee, telling you how much of an idiot you are, how you’ve ruined everything. 

But that doesn’t matter. Knock Out does.

You find him sitting in the center of the training room, staring blankly at his servos. Just like when he came to your garage that night. After Breakdown died. After he left the Decepticons.

“...Knock Out?” you keep your voice a low murmur as you approach, swallowing the bitter taste coating your tongue. 

“It’s that bastard, isn’t it?” Knock Out doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “Silas. The human leading MECH. The one who ambushed us. He’s using Breakdown’s  _ corpse _ as a puppet.”

Wordlessly, you crawl over his legs and place yourself in his lap. He shifts to accommodate you better but doesn’t make a move to embrace you. He’s almost hot temperature-wise. As if, like you, he is so full of fury and hatred that it’s becoming a blazing inferno inside of him. 

“I have to stop him. I have to get Breakdown—I have to get Breakdown’s body back. Give him the proper rights.” He clenches his servos into two fists. “I never should have left him. I should have stayed, I should have  _ died  _ with…”

Knock Out doesn’t finish. Instead he finally hugs you, tightly but not so much so that it hurts, and you can feel how badly he’s shaking now. “I’m sorry,” he croaks out remorsefully. “I shouldn’t have said that. Then you and I never would have—”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, reaching up and placing both your hands on the sides of his faceplate. You stretch so that your mouth is inches away from his mouth and you press the faintest of kisses against it. “You’re grieving for someone you loved very much, Knock Out. It’s okay. You have to allow yourself to feel those emotions. You can’t lock them away and throw the key out.”

“I just wish he could have met you,” Knock Out confesses in a small voice that absolutely breaks you. “He loved your stupid memes so much, ___.”

You don’t know why that sentence is the one to steel your resolve, but it is.

You’re going to make this right.

“Come with me,” you tell him gently as you stand back up. “We’re going to fix this. Together. We’ll get Breakdown’s body back.”

Knock Out shakes his helm but gets up anyway, his optics full of excruciating disbelief. “How?”

“With the Autobots. Because they will  _ not  _ just stand by and do nothing. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

When you and Knock Out return to the base’s center the entirety of Team Prime is still standing around talking to one another in hushed tones. Bulkhead is the one to notice your arrival first, since he’s the one closest to the doorway, and he starts to say, “Look, ___, we’re sorry about—”

You put a finger up to silence him.

Mercifully, he shuts up. As does everyone else.

“I’m only gonna say this once, so listen the fuck up,” you announce as you stare each and every Autobot dead in the optics. “You are going to apologize to Knock Out, not me. You are going to help him and get Breakdown’s body from MECH. And then you are going to either let us go our separate ways free from your bullshit, or you’re going to start respecting Knock Out’s contributions to becoming a better person and accept him as a member of Team Prime.  _ Do I make myself clear? _ ”

“But your human government will not allow—”

All it takes is one look from Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus immediately stops talking and steps back, lowering his helm shamefully. Optimus comes forward and kneels down so that he can see you eye-to-optic, his face set in a resolute and grim expression. “You are right,” he says, and his words echo all around the base. “We have not been acting as Autobots should. We let our bias cloud our judgment, and it was not fair to you and Knock Out.”

He straightens back up and steps towards Knock Out, who has remained still and silent behind you. “While many of us may be unable to grant pardon for your past actions,” he booms as he places a servo on Knock Out’s shoulder, “we recognize that you are not the same mech as you were when this war began. You have changed, and though it may be a long road ahead, we realize that it would do better to welcome you as one of our brethren than to shun you as a former enemy. So, Knock Out, I ask this of you.”

Your heart stops beating for just a moment as Optimus suddenly produces an Autobot emblem from his servo, holding it out to Knock Out with a noble smile.

“Do you accept my offer to join the Autobots?”

Knock Out stares at the extended servo and the symbol it holds. He’s taking so long to answer that you’re afraid he’s going to say no. 

But then—

“I would be honored to,” Knock Out replies graciously, plucking the Autobot symbol from Optimus’s servo and cradling it in his own as if it were the most precious substance in the entire solar system. 

You breathe a sigh of relief and it feels like a thousand years worth of weight is lifted from your shoulders. “Oh thank god.”

And when the Autobots begin to apologize, one by one, you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cry.

You turn away to hide your tears, of course. You don’t want them to know how much of an emotional little bitch you can be.

The next few hours go by in a daze. It’s a rush of preparation and planning for the operation to infiltrate the MECH base Ultra Magnus has been scoping out in order to take back Breakdown’s body, or whatever is left of it. And you’re part of every conversation, every suggestion; though the offer was never formally said out loud, you know you’ve been accepted into the fold of the Autobots as Knock Out has. 

The only dissenting voices are the kids. Well, really, just Miko.

“How come ___ gets to go on the mission and we never do?” she demands petulantly as she watches you with a jealous disdain. Wheeljack, who happens to be a demolitions specialist, has been instructing you on how to operate various explosives he’s devised.

“Miko...” Raf shakes his head and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sighing. Apparently this was a common thing.

“Maybe because she’s an adult and we’re still just kids?” Jack suggests with a shrug. Even after everything, he still won’t look you in the eye.

“Yeah, but we’ve been part of Team Prime waaaay longer than she has! It’s totally unfair! Not cool! Hmph!” Miko crosses her arms and disappears into the couch. Moments later, the Xbox is turned out, and the sound of gunfire and zombie moans can be heard.

“I think it’s a terrible idea to bring  _ any  _ human along, regardless of their maturity,” Arcee mutters as she comes up from behind you and drops a bundle of clothing into your lap. “Here. MECH’s base is located in a colder climate, so you might wanna put this on. Don’t want you freezing to death.”

“Aw, Arcee, you do care!” you squeal and beam adoringly up at her. She rolls her optics and walks away before you can properly thank her by flirting terribly and saying you wouldn’t mind freezing to death in her chilly blue gaze.

“Hey, kid, I need you to focus!” Wheeljack snaps his fingers in front of you, bringing your attention back to bombshells that aren’t Arcee. He’s got a spread of explosives before you, of all different shapes and sizes. “You won’t be in the thick of things, but you still need a way to protect yourself. And these aren’t toys, you know. If mishandled, things can get deadly.”   
  
“I know.” You nod seriously and give him a salute. “The flat round plate thingy is a sticky bomb that’s got a delayed response and is filled with shrapnel. The sphere is a remote explosive that will go off when you activate the red button on the detonator. And the big rectangle has a timer, so you have to put it where you want it and then run like hell. See? I was listening!”

“Yeah, but…” Wheeljack looks mock hurt. “You didn’t remember any of their names…”

“The Terrible Tortilla, Payment Day, and Susan,” you respond dryly.

Wheeljack nods in sage-like affirmation and makes a fist, holding it out to you approvingly. “Hell yeah,” he says as he puts the explosions in a canvas bag with his other servo.

You eagerly return the fistbump with a grin as you take the bag and sling it over your shoulders. “Hell yeah.”

Not all of the Autobots are accompanying you and Knock Out on the rescue mission. Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus, and Ratchet will remain at the base for back up, and also to keep an eye on the comms and scanners to ensure there are no surprises waiting for you all. You’re a little bummed about not being able to see Optimus Prime in action, since you completely dissociated the last time, but if too many Autobots show up it’ll be harder to remain inconspicuous. They’re giant alien robots, after all.

While everyone is busy finalizing their equipment you realize Knock Out alone in the corner, looking at the Autobot symbol Optimus gave him silently. You wander over to him, brushing your shoulder against his leg so he knows you’re there. “You doing okay?” you ask quietly.

Knock Out glances down at you. He’s got a conflicted expression on. “I...don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “I’ve thought about becoming an Autobot for longer than I care to admit. Now that it’s actually happened, it feels...odd. Unreal. And with what we’re about to do, everything in my processor is just a mess.” He brings the servo holding the Autobot symbol up and presses it against his forehead, ex-venting shakily. “I’m ready. But I’m also terrified. And I want you to stay behind so you won’t be in danger but I also want to respect your decision to come with. Especially since you were the one who made this possible.”

You shake your head. “No, Knock Out. Your actions made this possible.  _ You _ chose to leave the Decepticons and reach out to the Autobots for help. All I did was kick their asses into gear and make them realize all the hard work you’ve been putting in to change your ways. Besides,” you grin cheekily up at him and lean against his leg. “Didn’t I tell you that you’re stuck with me? I’m not letting you do this on your own. ...and maybe I want to watch Arcee be hot and do hot Arcee things.”

He snorts. “Oh, of course. I never could have guessed.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll always love you the most.”   
  
The words are out of your mouth before you’ve realized what you’ve said and you freeze. You slowly turn your head to look up at Knock Out, and he’s staring at you with wide optics and a gaping mouth.

“Did...did you just—”

“Are you all ready to begin the mission?” Ultra Magnus calls out, and you could kiss him for cutting Knock Out’s sentence short. But you won’t. Because Knock Out is the one you love and the one you’d rather kiss (except maybe Arcee) and the one that you love  _ holy shit you told him you love him _ .

“I’M READY,” you practically scream, scrambling away from Knock Out as fast as your little human legs can carry you and racing towards the ground bridge portal. The other Autobots going with are already there. Ratchet types in the coordinates and the weird, hologram-looking tunnel of blue coalescing in crackling rings of energy roars to life.

“I will be your commanding officer during this assignment,” Ultra Magnus declares as Knock Out sidles up behind you, and you can feel his optics burning a hole in the back of your head. You don’t turn around. “Arcee and Bumblebee will infiltrate the base ahead of us to let us know of the enemy’s current numbers. Knock Out, you and I will follow behind. Smokescreen will stay with ___ and alert us of any reinforcements. Our focus is to get in, locate the body of Breakdown, acquire it, and get out without being detected. Any questions?”

“Does this make me look fat?” The whole time he was talking, you were putting on the winter coat, snow pants, boots, gloves, and hat that Arcee had given you. You felt like you were back in the midst of a good ol’ Chicago winter. 

“Any  _ relevant  _ questions?” Ultra Magnus amends, ever the unflappable.

No one has any. 

“Very well. Autobots, roll out!”   
  
It takes every fiber of your being not to burst out into very inappropriate laughter, because the phrase “Autobots, roll out” is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever heard.

They all transform into their respective alt-modes. Smokescreen is a rather attractive sportscar but he has nothing on the sleek sexiness of Knock Out. Ultra Magnus is some kind of semi, like Optimus. Bumblebee’s alt is the only one you know by name, because he’s a goddamn camaro, and it’s so out of place for a mech as cute as him. Arcee is a motorcycle that you would definitely not mind taking a ride on. God, she’s hot.

Smokescreen’s door swings open and you hop into his interior, sitting in the passenger’s side and getting yourself comfortable. “Am I gonna throw up from this?” you ask him worriedly, realizing that the only other time you’ve gone through a ground bridge, you were completely comatose.

“Please don’t,” Smokescreen pleads, his voice coming from the comm system on his dashboard. The entire car shudders. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle that in my interior.”

“I’ll try not to,” you swear, patting the dashboard comfortingly. “Now onwards, my trusty steed!”

Everyone’s engines roar to life and follow Ultra Magnus through the ground bridge, tires squealing. You swallow hard as Smokescreen goes in last and you are surrounded by the hypnotic blue energy of the alien teleportation device. You feel a little bit of vertigo, but it’s the type of vertigo when you’re in a ferris wheel and you make the mistake of looking down when the carriage is at the very top.

And then Smokescreen is through, and the scenery changes. A boreal forest spreads out before you. Snow covers the ground in thick blankets. The sky is grey and huge snowflakes fall from the clouds in layers upon layers, seemingly endless. Smokescreen follows the tire tracks in the snow, expertly weaving in and out of pine trees. The snow muffles everything and the air feels eerily silent. It provides excellent cover for the Autobots, but you know it can do the same for the MECH assholes too. 

“Where are we exactly?” you ask Smokescreen as you peer out his window and see, through a brief break in the pine trees, a jagged black line of snow-capped mountains in the distance. It’s actually your favorite kind of scenery; you’ve never been able to see it in person, and if you weren’t here to rescue the body of Knock Out’s dead husband, you would have loved to just go wandering around and enjoy the magical sights.

“Siberia,” Smokescreen answers. “Somewhere pretty far up north. The temperature is just above what our systems can’t handle.”

A couple minutes later he’s caught up to the rest of the Autobots. You’re on the precipice of a cliff and a few miles below you is a sprawling expanse of dystopian-looking buildings. It’s straight out of a superhero movie, and this is the scene where the villain’s secret hideout full of doomsday technology has finally been discovered. You can see industrial-sized crates and shipping containers scattered all about. No doubt they were filled with dangerous weapons. Surprisingly you see no visible guards patrolling the area—even though you are relatively high up, you still should be able to see specks of movement. You don’t know whether this is a good sign or bad.

“Smokescreen, you and ___ will remain here and act as our look-outs,” Ultra Magnus commands as he transforms back into his Autobot self. Everyone else but Smokescreen follows suit and you remain cozy inside his interior.

Knock Out taps the hood of Smokescreen’s alt-mode with one claw, peering into the windshield and looking directly at you. “Don’t let anything happen to her, rookie. You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Hey, I’m an Autobot! Protecting squishy humans is all part of the job,” Smokescreen insists, unperturbed by the obvious threat dripping in Knock Out’s voice. “Besides, you bots have the hard part. It’ll be boring on our end.”

“Keep your optics sharp and your comms clear, Smokescreen,” Arcee advises. She and Bumblebee disappear down a slope into the snow and trees. 

Ultra Magnus follows a minute later. Knock Out remains standing before Smokescreen, still staring at you knowingly. You force a smile and painfully wave at him through the windshield, sinking further and further into the seat until just the top of your head and eyes are visible. Knock Out says nothing more and trails after Ultra Magnus, and you let out a shaky breath.

And then you shove the door open, leap out into the snow, and immediately bursting into tears.

“Wh-what’s wrong?!” Smokescreen transforms and towers over you. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, not even feeling the chill of the Siberian air as you sob into the snow, curling up into a pathetic little ball. “It’s just—I just—I fucked up! I fucked up! I told Knock Out I love him, and now I’m panicking because it was so stupid of me to say, especially before somethng like this!” You gesture wildly at the MECH compound below you, burying your face in the snow. Honestly, the cold feels good on your flaming cheeks. Even if it is freezing your tears. 

“I, uh. Wow. Okay. This is a lot to take in.” Smokescreen kneels down by you and you feel his large servo tentatively patting you on the back. “There, there? It’s alright? You don’t have to— _ holy Primus did you say you love Knock Out? _ ”

“Yes,” you blubber miserably. Your voice is muffled by the snow. “A lot. So much that it feels like my heart is going to burst. And I know he cares about me, because we’ve had a lot of good talks about said feelings, but...but he still loves Breakdown, and why wouldn’t he? He said they were Conjunx Endura! I can’t compete with ten million years of companionship, or however the hell long it is that you guys live.” You sneeze into the snow, taking a deep gulp of the frigidly fresh air. It hurts your nostrils. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. I literally just met you today. You don’t need to know about my tragic love life. Or lack thereof.”

Smokescreen just whistles slowly, tone strangled with disbelief. “You love Knock Out.” 

“Yes, Smokescreen,” you mutter as you lift your face up from the snow, spitting some out of your mouth as you glower at him. “I already established that. I, a human, am in love with Knock Out, a Cybertronian.”   
  
“Wait.” Realization dawns on his faceplate. “Did you two…?” He puts his thumb and forefinger together to make the okay sign with one servo and points the other forefinger at it, and then slowly starts to bring them closer together.

You sputter indignantly, grabbing a fistful of snow and throwing it at him. “W-why would you—...okay. Fine. Yes. Twice. It was...beyond anything words can describe.”

“HOW?!” He covers his optics with his servos and shakes his helm wildly, backing away from you. “How is that physically possible?!”

“Well, the first time he used that Iacon relic thing to make himself smaller. The second time I couldn’t walk for three days. Anything is possible if you’re horny enough, I guess.” You spread your hands out wretchedly, flopping backwards into the snow once more and staring up at the gloomy sky as snow falls onto your face. “...I’ll stop talking about this. It’s been a weird couple of weeks. Everything just kinda...came out at once. Please forget I ever said anything and tell no one of this conversation.”

Smokescreen makes a noise deep in his chassis akin to a human retching sound and then immediately straightens his posture, looking at you with a completely blank expression. “What conversation?”

You nod in satisfaction. “Good. Thank you.”

Smokescreen sits down in the snow besides you, twiddling his thumbs as you continue to stare up at the sky and let the snow cover your body. You consider making a snow angel but decide against it because you’d rather just become one with the ground instead. Snowflakes land on your eyelashes and melt on your lips. It’s peaceful. You can feel your eyes start to shut. The cold air on your face combined with the toasty warmth of your thick coat is a recipe for sleepytimes. 

But then you hear the sound of something big coming towards you through the trees.

You snap back to attention at the same time as Smokescreen, who’s already got two blasters in his hands. You grab the bag of explosives you had completely forgotten about during your mini meltdown and hand one hand on The Terrible Tortilla just in case.

Emerging from the snow-covered pine trees is a Decepticon. 

He’s pointy. Lithe. A predator waiting in the shadows to pounce on unsuspecting prey. He’s greyscale, like Megatron had been, with similar hellfire eyes. Only while Megatron’s had burned with a terrible authority, this one’s blazed with a cunning that made you feel colder than the Siberian air around you. A red singular piece of metal points up between his optics and is as long as your arm; it’s weird, and reminds you of a bird feather for some reason. He has razor-sharp claws longer than Knock Out’s and walks with a saunter that says he’s already won.

“Well, well, well,” he rasps as he sneers at Smokescreen. “What a delightful surprise. Imagine meeting you here, Autobot.”

“Get behind me, now!” Smokescreen orders you, aiming his guns at the Decepticon but otherwise making no sudden movements. You remain where you are, inspecting every inch of the newcomer with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, are you Starscream, by chance?” you ask the Decepticon curiously.

He jerks his helm down at you, scowling. “Why do you ask, fleshling?” he growls.

You smirk and pull out The Terrible Tortilla. “Knock Out’s right. You  _ do  _ look like a little bitch. Beep, beep, motherfucker!” 

And you press the button on the side of the sticky bomb, hurl it at Starscream, and it attaches itself onto his chassis with a very loud beeping noise. He looks down at it with an unimpressed grimace, trying to yank it off with his claws. But it’s stuck fast and the beeps get louder and faster.

“Ugh, what is this supposed to do—”

Smokescreen transforms into his alt-mode and you scramble inside before Starscream can finish his sentence; he’s already halfway down the slope when you hear the sound of a small explosion, and a flurry of Cybertronian cursing as a plume of smoke rises into the air.

Less than a millisecond later, similar sounds of multiple detonations going off come from the direction of the MECH compound. Your heart sinks. That definitely wasn’t you.

“Optimus! Come in, Optimus!” Smokescreen hollers over the comms as he speeds through the snow towards the compound. 

Optimus’s voice crackles with concern. “Smokescreen? What is it?” 

“ _ Starscream _ just showed up out of nowhere!” he reports hurriedly. “I thought you all were keeping an eye on the scans back at base!”   
  
“We are!” Ratchet’s voice comes over the comms now, grumpy as ever. “There are no Decepticon signals—...oh. Oh, Primus.”   
  
“WHAT IS IT?” you and Smokescreen shout at the same time as he narrowly avoids crashing into a tree.

“Three Decepticon signals just appeared. Almost like they were being cloaked by something until now. Starscream, Breakdown, and...Megatron.”

You groan and hold the explosion bag close. “Well that’s just fan-fucking-tastic!” 

“Smokescreen!” Ultra Magnus’s voice comes through now. “Did you decide to take a stasis nap? Megatron is here, and he’s allied himself with—”

“We just had a run-in with Starscream, sir!” Smokescreen reports hastily. “Somehow the Cons were masking their signals! As far as we can tell it’s just Starscream, Megatron, and...Breakdown.”

Ultra Magnus doesn’t reply but the communication line is still open on his end. You hear the sound of gunfire and metal clashing. You hear Knock Out screaming wordlessly in rage and the taunting laughter of Megatron. You’re squeezing the bag so tight your knuckles turn white.

“We need you down here. Optimus just messaged me; he’s on his way. But we need you to keep things even. Is the human with you?”

“The human is sitting inside of Smokescreen like she’s supposed to,” you say to the screen as the sloped forest gives way to flat ground and the compound fully comes into view. The sound of fighting is horrifyingly close. Now you can see other humans running around in full body gear toting machine guns and other weapons, marching between the huge shipping containers and heading towards the largest building. It’s disgustingly industrial, made out of steel and brick with absolutely no artistic touch whatsoever. The windows have been blown out, and there’s thick billows of midnight black smoke rising from the roof.

“You need to stay hidden,” Ultra Magnus commands. “It’s not safe for you. MECH has more men stationed compared to when I was here last, and Megatron is not a mech to be trifled with.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Smokescreen says nervously as he pulls behind a shipping container, “___ and I are already down here, and Starscream is the other way we came. There’s not really anywhere safe for her to be.”

“I’m not gonna just hide and wait until Optimus Prime comes swooping in to save the day!” you add as you kick open Smokescreen’s door. Whatever Ultra Magnus was about to say is lost as Smokescreen transforms, crouching down so his helm isn’t above the shipping container.

“Okay, listen to me,” he says as his chassis opens up (could  _ all  _ Cybertronians do that???) and pulls out a human-sized gun that’s still pretty robot alien aesthetic and shoves it into your hands. “That’s a plasma pistol that Ratchet was working on for the guy who works for your human government. I may or may not have slipped it into my subspace when no one was looking.” He pokes his head around the storage container. “It has more ammo and power than your human weapons, but it’s not infinite. The mission obviously isn’t going the way it was supposed to, so we’re going to improvise. Stay close to me and don’t...shoot yourself in the foot.”

Your fingers wrap around the pistol’s hilt and you swallow. It’s a weight you’re not comfortable with in the least. You’ve never shot anyone before. You’d rather not start right now. Throwing a sticky bomb at a Decepticon was one thing, but this? 

“I’ll only use it if absolutely necessary,” you tell Smokescreen. “But I appreciate it. And also want to know how you managed to sneak by Ratchet’s all-seeing gaze.”

Smokescreen grins cheekily. “Guess you’ll just have to make it through this in one piece so I can teach you.”

You match his grin. “You do realize that I am now claiming you as my new best friend?” 

Smokescreen whoops in response and burst out from behind your hiding place, heading for the big building. The remaining group of MECH soldiers turn around when they hear him racing towards them, and have no time to react as he knocks them all down with a swing of his arm like they’re a bunch of bowling pins. “Even if you  _ have  _ allied with the Decepticons, you’re still humans, and I don’t want to hurt you!” he yells apologetically as you sprint behind him as best you can in snowpants. 

“YOU PIECE OF SCRAP!” a metallic voice shrieks from behind you, and you spin around to find a fucking  _ jet  _ soaring towards you at a very alarming speed.

“How come no one told me that you guys could turn into THINGS THAT FLY?!” you yell at Smokescreen as the jet transforms into a very pissed Starscream, whose chassis is not blown to bits but definitely scuffed and caved in slightly. 

He points a hooked claw at you menacingly. “You’re the little fleshling Knock Out decided to adopt, aren’t you? Soundwave showed us all of your messages; even the ones with your fleshy little face! My apologies for not recognizing you sooner. You see, all you humans just look so  _ ugly _ , it can be quite difficult for me to tell you apart.”

“And you look like what would come out if an emaciated chicken had sex with a swiss army knife,” you shoot back, raising the plasma pistol at his helm and pulling the trigger before you could change your mind.

A beam of white energy blasts out from the gun with a strange  _ whoosh _ and hits Starscream in the left optic. He howls, more in irritation than agony, and slaps his servo over it. “Stop trying to attack me when all I’m trying to do is have a conversation!” he snarls viciously, and you flip him off with double middle fingers—though it’s hard to do with the hand holding the gun.

“Stop monologuing when I’m trying to help Knock Out retrieve the body of his dead husband!”

“STOP TALKING TO STARSCREAM WHEN WE’RE TRYING TO RUN AWAY FROM HIM!” Smokescreen shrieks, grabbing you in one servo and racing towards the smoking building. 

He bursts through the doors and it’s a scene of pure chaos. At least three dozen humans in scarily advanced armor are knocked out cold on the floor. The building must have been some kind of storage area, because there are overturned crates and boxes and pallets. The contents inside are of no use anymore. Burning debris is everywhere. Flames lick the walls and ceiling. You’re absolutely sweltering in the winter ensemble Arcee gave you, but you know if you try to take it off you’ll probably end up getting badly burned by a stray flame. 

Your throat constricts when you see Bumblebee crouching over an unmoving Arcee, holding one arm protectively around her form as he shoots at Megatron with a gun attached to his wrist. Ultra Magnus has his massive hammer in his servos, swinging it with adept precision at the leader of the Decepticons. Megatron blasts away with his giant cannons, roaring savagely. You look around frantically for Knock Out and when you finally see him, you cry out before you can help it.

Knock Out is backed against a wall. There’s a mech you’ve never seen before pinning both of his arms up so that Knock Out’s saw and a deadly-looking blade in his other servo are just out of reach. You know it’s Breakdown—well, Breakdown’s  _ body _ . He’s massive and built like Wheeljack and Bulkhead. His frame is blue and grey and the finish is scratched on every inch. When you cry out, his head turns, revealing two yellow optics that gaze at you with a hollow interest.

“Oh,” the human inside Breakdown’s body says as if you’re a spider he’s just found on the floor, “it’s you.”

Knock Out uses that momentary distraction to break free of his grasp, kicking out with his legs and landing a hit on Breakdown’s knee. He snarls as he swipes at Breakdown’s faceplate with both the whirring saw and the serrated blade akin to a surgeon’s tools. “Don’t speak to her!” he growls ruthlessly. “Don’t even look at her! I’ll tear you apart, you bastard!”

Everything happens too fast.

Breakdown—no, Silas, it’s some fucker named Silas inside, you remember—easily ducks away from Knock Out’s frenzied swipes. He charges toward you and Smokescreen, who is still holding you under one arm like a sack of potatoes. Silas roars like a raging bull and headbutts Smokescreen just as he drops you to the floor, barely missing stepping on you as he stumbles backward from the intense impact. He lets out a cry of pain as Silas grabs hold of his helm with his giant servos and slams him into the floor so hard the concrete cracks beneath him. You watch in horror as his optics flutter shut and with one agonized groan, lay completely still.

Silas is towering over you. Starscream wasn’t really scary, just annoying. Megatron was so terrifying that you dissociated the entire fight with him away. But Silas is another story.

But Silas is a human inside a Cybertronian. A human, like you, who is sneering at you with another being’s face and eyes that see you as nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“This creature’s brain knows you. I can see you in his memories.” Silas steps forward and you scramble to your feet, holding the gun out at him with trembling hands. He just laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “Really? You think that’s enough to kill me? When I am inside this body, I am a  _ god _ !”

“You’re a sociopath!” you spit out shakily. Silas just laughs at you again. Sickeningly. Tauntingly.

“I’m an  _ opportunist. _ And Lord Megatron has been kind enough to assist me in my endeavours. In return, I help him in his.”

“He’ll rip you to shreds when he’s decided he’s done with you!” Knock Out hisses as he suddenly appears from behind. You had been too distracted by Silas to keep your gaze on what he had been doing. He jams the serrated blade between the plates of Breakdown’s shoulders and twists; there’s a horrible cracking sound as Silas groans and black sludge that smells like oil erupts from the joint. “But he’ll have to get in line,” Knock Out says in a dangerously low voice. “Because you’ll be dealing with  _ me _ , first.”

You don’t mean to take your eyes off of Knock Out and Silas, but there’s just so much going on that it’s hard to focus on one thing. You start to glance over to see how Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee are doing against Megatron but before you can really gauge the situation, an explosion from behind you rocks the entire building.

“My liege!” Starscream calls out from the Decepticon-sized hole he’s unnecessarily made in the wall with wrist rocket-launchers when there was a perfectly good door just ten feet away. The optic that you shot is squeezed shut and purple blood trickles down his metallic cheek. “Lord Megatron, Optimus Prime has—”

“MEGATRON!” 

Starscream yelps as a blast of energy shoots past him and ducks behind a pile of rubble. Optimus comes charging into view, holding his own cannon, Wheeljack and Bulkhead flanking close behind him. A swirling ground bridge can be seen in the background and Starscream makes a move as to go dash towards it, but Bulkhead swings a giant ball and chain at him so hard that he soars through the air and lands just a few feet away from where Megatron is fending off the combined attacks of Bumblebee and Ultra Magnus.

“God, this is literally like a 90’s mecha anime where everything happens so much,” you groan feebly as you struggle to watch it all.

Knock Out uses the anarchy to his advantage. 

He jams the blade further down the gash he’s already made and digs the saw blade into Breakdown’s neck at the same time. More oil surges from the wounds, dripping down Breakdown’s finish as Silas howls in pain. Knock Out plants his pedes on the floor and  _ pulls _ . You see the strain in his face and optics as he rips Breakdown’s arm from its socket. It drops to the floor with a heavy thud. He keeps shoving the saw blade further and further and you miss the exact moment it happens because there’s just too much going on around you, but somehow there’s a fractured chasm in Breakdown’s chassis that begins at the neck and runs all the way down to his waist. 

“Are you watching,  _ Lord  _ Megatron?” Knock Out calls out furiously, sheathing both his blades so that his servos have returned to normal. “Because I’m going to do the same thing to you!”

He digs his claws into either side of the fissure and tears away the layers. You wince as the metal plates of Breakdown’s chassis screech like nails on chalkboard as Knock Out peels them back, revealing a middle-aged human man in some kind of harness hanging in Breakdown’s hollowed-out form. There’s a bunch of thin wires attached to the man’s head that disappear upwards towards Breakdown’s throat, and he’s wearing a strange mask over his eyes that look like futuristic binoculars. The lens in them are yellow; the same yellow as Breakdown’s optics.

“NO!” Silas shrieks, shaking his head frantically. Thicker cables run all the way down his arms and legs. Some are short-circuiting; sparks shoot out as he tries to wrench free of his bindings that keep him inside of Breakdown, but he’s just getting himself tangled in the process. “I AM A GOD! I HAVE TRANSCENDED BEYOND HUMANITY! I WILL—”

“Oh, do shut up, will you? Your tantrum is almost embarrassing,” Knock Out says in a condescending tone. He reaches into Breakdown’s chest and grabs Silas by the shoulders, ripping him out of the cables and the harness at the same time. Silas screams in agony as the wires attached to his head are torn out of the skin, and you can’t help but wince in sympathy when you see the blood streaming out of dozens of pinky-sized holes in his flesh. Breakdown’s frame collapses to the ground, falling to its knees and helm lolling to one side as the empty cavity sparks intermittently and the yellow glow of the optics fade.

“Knock Out,” Optimus calls out in a warning tone, advancing forward slowly. “I know this human has caused you irreversible pain. But you are an Autobot now; we have sworn never to take a human life, no matter how much evil they have done. It is not our place.”

“You’re soft, Prime!” Megatron taunts. You were so busy watching Knock Out that you didn’t even realize Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee had stopped fighting him because they were watching Knock Out too. “Always so eager to protect these pathetic fleshbags, even when they want to destroy you!”

Knock Out spins around to face Megatron, holding the writhing and wailing Silas in one servo. “No, he’s right,” Knock Out says in a surprisingly calm tone. “I won’t kill this human. It isn’t worth the effort.” He tosses Silas at Megatron with a lazy throw, who snatches the man out of the air like a viper striking. “He’s yours.”

“Why would I want this thing?” Megatron growls, eyeing Knock Out suspiciously. Silas is whimpering now, sounding like a pathetic broken thing. You feel not an ounce of pity. 

“Hm. You’re right. I forgot to give you the whole package.” Knock Out leans over and sticks his servo into Breakdown’s gaping chassis, rummaging around for something. He produces a human-sized flash drive, pinching it between his claws, and chucks it at Megatron. “I believe the data in there will consist of either two things: Silas’s and MECH’s plans to betray you and do what they did to Breakdown to every Decepticon on Earth, or terabytes of human pornographic media.” Knock Out shrugs indifferently. “But I could be wrong.”

Megatron makes a similar face to what Smokescreen made when he found out you and Knock Out had sex. “Ugh! Filth!” he spits, colossal frame shuddering. He turns his gaze to Optimus and, seeing the absolute wreckage as well as the fact that he was incredibly outnumbered, growls, “Consider this a stalemate, Prime. It won’t happen again. Soundwave! Bridge, NOW!”

A ground bridge opens up behind Megatron. Ultra Magnus makes a lunge for Megatron, but Optimus puts a servo on his broad shoulders and shakes his helm. Megatron cackles triumphantly and gives Knock Out a vengeful smirk. He kicks Starscream’s unconscious body unceremoniously into the swirling mass of energy and it disappears. He also places Silas on the ground and nudges him with the edge of his pede, the sharp tips digging into his side. Silas sobs and begins to crawl on all fours into the portal, dripping blood that falls into the psychedelic blue and immediately evaporates.

Before Megatron himself can fully escape, however, you do something stupid. Because you are an idiot.

“Hey, you’ll need this too!” you shout as you throw the bag full of Wheeljack’s other two explosives at Megatron. He catches it on instinct and scowls at it, then at you. For a moment you’re afraid he’s going to look inside and see the contents, but maybe he’s just had enough of today’s bullshit, because he storms into the ground bridge without even acknowledging what just happened.

You turn to the Autobots with a nervous grin. “Okay, so, we need to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, because I may have activated Susan while everything was happening, and I don’t know about everyone else but I don’t want to be here when Megatron gets a finger blown off and comes back for Siberian Shenanigans Part Two: Electric Boogaloo.”

“Oh, sweetspark.” Knock Out breathes in relief. He sweeps you into one servo and holds you against his chassis as part of the on-fire ceiling falls down, spraying you both in a cloud of soot that will definitely take more than one shower to get out of your hair. “Never change.”

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Breakdown’s burial takes place under the starry night sky.

It’s the day after Team Prime pulled off Operation: Siberian Shenanigans (that’s not the real name of the mission, but it irritates Ultra Magnus whenever you say it). Sticking to his word of not taking the life of any human, no matter what atrocities they may have committed, Optimus had the Autobots pull the unconscious MECH soldiers from the burning warehouse. You didn’t wait long enough for any of them to wake up or for Megatron to return. 

Smokescreen and Arcee came to just as they were being carried to the ground bridge. Arcee had been attacked first, and she was understandably bitter about a bunch of humans getting the drop on her. Smokescreen was just upset he missed most of the fight.

Knock Out dragged Breakdown’s body on his own. Optimus offered to help but him, but Knock Out insisted that it was his burden to bear. You stood by his side the whole time, one hand on his leg for silent encouragement.

You’re in the Nevadan desert, a few miles away from the Autobot base. The moon is full tonight and it bathes everything in a serene luminescence. Together, every member of Team Prime—including you and the kids—have dug a grave big enough and deep enough for Breakdown’s body to be entombed in. 

It is not a wholly somber affair. There is laughter and conversation, exchanges of stories and tales of grand heroics from eons long past. But the rest of Team Prime has given you and Knock Out space at the grave, and they keep their conversations hushed enough that the revelry isn’t discourteous. You know Knock Out feels a deep sorrow by the way his servos tremble as he finishes carving Cybertronian letters into the red sandstone cliffs you have buried Breakdown under.

“Til all are one, my fierce warrior. May our sparks reunite one day,” he recites softly, pressing his helm against the rock for one brief moment. 

You look up at the stars. Thousands of constellations wink at you. You wonder if one of them is Breakdown watching over Knock Out with a fond smile. You wish you’d known him. It’s forever going to be an ache in your chest that refuses to go away. 

You’re not the religious type at all. But you send a silent prayer to Breakdown, and to whoever else may be listening, to always keep one optic on Knock Out.

“What will you do now?” you ask him quietly when you’re done imparting your hopes and dreams to the galaxies stretching above you. It’s easier to think about the future right now than the present or the past.

“What will  _ I _ do? Don’t you mean what will  _ we  _ do?” Knock Out turns to look at you with a simple smile. It’s the kind that says a million things at once and yet, it seems to say nothing at all. Because you know. You already know, and you clasp your hands so tight that they may go numb.

“O-Oh,” you stammer. Neither of you have addressed what you said yesterday. It seems like an epoch ago. You feel like you’ve aged timeless years. You’re going to age timeless more if you never say it properly, so you swallow hard and look at him in the optics with as much courage as your feeble human heart can muster. 

“Knock Out, I know you will always love Breakdown. I know I can never be some sort of replacement for what you two had, but I...I care about you so much. I’m a mess. I make mistakes. I’m  _ human _ . But…”

You shiver in the chill of the desert night. He’s just looking at you expectantly; he’s looking through you, looking into you, looking into your very soul. 

You are unmade.

You are undone.

You are  _ whole _ .

“I love you.” 

You reach up and press the tips of your fingers to where his spark is. You know it doesn’t beat the way a human heart does, but you swear you feel it thrum gently beneath your touch.

“I’m in love with you, Knock Out.”

He leans down one servo sliding around your waist and the other cradling your head as he slowsical, incredible woman.”

And then he kisses you.

You’re vaguely aware of the way the whole of Team Prime erupts into startled confusion. Someone swears—you think it’s Ratchet—and then someone lets out a shrill holler of “HELL YEAH” that you know is Wheeljack—and then you hear Smokescreen whistle excitedly. You’re certain that everyone else has an equally animated reaction, except maybe Ultra Magnus, who isn’t even moved by videos of three-legged puppies.

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re too caught up in the universe of you and Knock Out to care.ly, carefully, lifts you up towards his helm. “I know,” Knock Out replies in a tone that is somehow both arrogant and tender at the same time. “I love you too, ___. You beautiful, nonsensic al, incredible woman.”

And then he kisses you.

You’re vaguely aware of the way the whole of Team Prime erupts into startled confusion. Someone swears loudly—you think it’s Ratchet—and then someone lets out a shrill holler of “HELL YEAH” that you know is Wheeljack—Jack shouts out, "I knew it! I knew it! I knew what I heard wasn't _research_!"—and then you hear Smokescreen whistle excitedly. You’re certain that everyone else has an equally animated reaction, except maybe Ultra Magnus, who isn’t even moved by videos of three-legged puppies.

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re too caught up in the universe of you and Knock Out to care.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far, thanks. hope you enjoyed this hot mess.
> 
> kinda wanna do more tfp x reader stuff. esp for arcee. i cant help it im a dumb gay for her.
> 
> phhhhhhbtbhtbthtbh ok bye


End file.
